


The Idiot's Array

by Ashcroft_Writes



Series: Gunslinger's Paean [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A Wee Bit of Kink On Occasion, Anal Sex, Being gay and doing crimes, Big Guns and Big Hats, Bisexual Character, Bounty Hunters, Brief Torture, Cad Bane Living Up to His Name, Claiming Bites, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone: Come Look at this Emotionally Stunted Duros, He is an Asshole and I Love Him, I Made this Canon Myself, Join Me In Rarepair Hell Because My Headcanons Are Fresh And Tasty, Loneliness, Long, M/M, Mentions of Slavery (Zygerrian arc), Plot, Smoking/Alcohol/Substance Use, Soul-Searching, Teeth, The Adventures of a Bastard in Space and Those Who Are Stuck With Him, Toes Dubcon Lines. I Don't Feel It Crosses Them But This Tag is to be Safe, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 113,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashcroft_Writes/pseuds/Ashcroft_Writes
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi with countless regrets. However, forging a shameful secret with the notorious Cad Bane while undercover… it actually wasn’t one of them.He wishes it was. What sort of man does that make him now?After all, something inside has started to crack. Perhaps that’s why he isn’t even surprised when a certain bounty hunter surges back into his life, dead set on turning his calamitous fall into fortune… and on making the Jedi suffer that did him wrong.Update—Chapter 14: The Spice-Train Robbery, II“I karkin’ told ye,” Bane growled, settling in the pilot’s chair.“…Excuse me, butacid storm?”
Relationships: Cad Bane/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze (mentioned)
Series: Gunslinger's Paean [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040385
Comments: 367
Kudos: 179





	1. The Idiot's Array

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697516) by [Wolveria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolveria/pseuds/Wolveria). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Star Wars fam! This is a project I was moved to start writing a long time ago, and I've recently pushed it through to the end. So it's all written—going to upload a chapter a week. I hope you like it as much as I liked making it! The world just needs more Banefic, you know? And yeah... this is a series... I've eventually got more on the way. :P
> 
> Secondly, a special thanks to the creators already in this incredible rarepair category, whose works were what made my brain entirely short-circuit, adopt this pairing into my heart, and get into making all of this.
> 
> Thirdly, speaking of inspirational sparks, I’d like to give a shout-out to the amazing [DCKIM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCKIM/pseuds/DCKIM), who tore through this before it was released like a bantha through its fodder and then stabbed me repeatedly with love and motivation and encouragement, AND did the beautiful cover image! Bless. His first introduction to Star Wars, and it’s through a Bane/Kenobi fic. I feel so powerful. DC is also a hell of a writer, so if you’re into any of the fandoms he writes, you simply gotta give his work a try. 
> 
> Finally: thank you for clicking, and I’d love to hear from you, even if you just want to scream incoherently into the void! That’s what I do every day! Hope you have fun. <3

An observation: Cad Bane’s canine teeth just weren’t _right_. They were… oddly sharp. Too shiny. At the merest hint of annoyance, they would break his cold countenance, slipping over his thin lips like dangerous little greetings.

He seemed to get annoyed a great deal.

Obi-Wan had worked with Duros like him before, and this didn’t seem… normal, for them. They were an old people, a civilized people—sociable, curious, and peaceable on the whole. Tied to the Galactic Core, their race was sending starships to the sky when much of the galaxy was banging rocks together. To bare their fangs like beasts was… uncouth.

Perhaps something had just broken when Bane had emerged from their stock. There was a _wildness_ in him, a trail of bodies piled in its wake. Working this job together was one of the most unsettling missions Obi-Wan had ever been asked to endure.

Now, Bane’s teeth seemed a warning that either the disguised “Hardeen” had been staring too long, or that their owner just didn’t like his face. Probably both. Well, this wasn’t a Republic vessel, and these weren’t Obi-Wan’s usual colleagues, so he stopped himself from offering an apologetic gesture as he turned away. Threatening leers were best met with indifferent scowls. A lifetime of diplomacy training could be tamped down.

Anakin’s awful recklessness might have been better for this mission, really—there was a wildness in him too, and he could have fit right in. Actually… it could make one uneasy, realizing how Anakin might have found this role… fun.

Though that was next week’s problem.

Today, the ship jerked and jarred under their feet as it entered hyperspace, a little metal can full of blasters and brutes, all marinating in each other’s air. The next two days en route to Naboo would be no pleasant matter.

…And not a lot of these bounty hunters seemed to bathe regularly, did they? Not even after an ordeal as fraught as their bloody selection for this excursion…

Not bothering to excuse himself, Obi-Wan padded to the refresher. The whole way, eyes crawled up his spine.

The sink’s water was cool over his weathered, tattooed face. Tired beyond words, he licked lips dry and strange to him in the mirror, wondering if his act was holding—not just the mask constructed for him in the clinic, but the one he needed to perform. Could they sense his inner strain? Catch his educated Coruscanti accent slip in when he was tired? Did they see his restraint… and wonder him weak?

It wouldn’t be true. No pushovers labored in the service of the Grand Armies of the Republic, nor the Jedi Order. But as his fingers prodded his unfamiliar cheeks, Obi-Wan could see well the darkening patches under his eyes. His gaze flickered and sagged, exhausted, morally worn. _…Sleep…_

He wasn’t like them, and sooner or later, more of them would smell it. Shrewd Bane had been sniffing around since day one. Regardless of all of _Hardeen_ _’s_ helpful little stunts back at the Box, it wouldn’t be out of character for a few of this crowd to test him over the next few days, taking stock.

Needing more time to compose himself, Obi-Wan peeled off his shirt and started wiping himself down, decontaminating the worst of his sweaty, filthy skin. This transporter fortunately had at least some basic amenities, even back here, where the riffraff was expected to stay. Hardeen didn’t need to live like an animal.

When he came back, collected and clean, the tension in the central gathering area had dispersed. Dooku was hidden off in his own section of the ship, probably avoiding _the help_. Like predators sharing a pen, the hunters were avoiding disruption by giving each other plenty of room—some of them had left the main area entirely, perhaps to their little crew bunks in the back, though Obi-Wan had noticed some setting up bedding in the cargo hold. The remaining hunters present cleaned their blasters and tapped through information on their datapads, avoiding eye contact, pretending the rest weren’t there.

Except one.

“ _Hardeen_.” The hissing lilt came from his right.

Obi-Wan stiffened. Force take that man. Even amongst this rough crowd, Bane was an entirely different breed, and agonizingly, he just wasn’t letting this fixation go. The Duros’ gaze was a compass snapping back to its destination—always picking, pushing, testing, no matter what Obi-Wan did to prove himself. Currently Bane was sitting on one of the chairs, hunched over the central table. In his long sapphire fingers, he shuffled sabacc cards.

Those fangs came out one final time before Obi-Wan realized the glare was actually an _invitation_. The chair opposite was empty. “Looking for a game to pass the time?” he hazarded.

Bane grunted something that might have been an affirmative. There were probably cards up the sleeves of his jacket—he didn’t seem above a few dishonest advantages.

Not that it would be wise to start a squabble of reputation in these tight quarters.

…Playing a game with him would be risky… but foolish to decline. _Especially when he_ _’s actually singling me out for something that doesn’t seem to be an insult or a dominance play…_

The ground felt as if it had been shifting between them—truly, Bane saving his life, back in the Box… it had been an unusual amount of concern for the man to exhibit towards another, and Obi-Wan still hadn’t figured it out.

Was it friendliness?

Was it a knife at his throat?

He sat. He even removed his gloves and gauntlets, as if to show he was hiding nothing, that he would be an honorable opponent. Bane seemed to get it, smirking, those daggers in his face slipping back behind cover. He began dealing them each a hand, then, as they settled, rolled up his own sleeves without being asked. It was enough to prove his mutual honesty—in this endeavor.

A small relief, that.

The cards went fast and steady. Bane played with no hesitation, no uncertainty. His calls were precise, calculated, and he said very little beyond that: no banter, no posturing. Just solid strategic moves and the occasional gleam in those blood-red marbles he called eyes. But that piercing gaze never really wavered, like he only ever blinked when his opponent wasn’t looking. This was like staring down a savage rancor, hoping it would flinch first.

Honestly, this was why the man didn’t have any known _friends_. That and all the kidnapping and murder.

The hunter Embo settled on a nearby seat after about fifteen minutes, cocking his gray-green head, narrowing his piercing golden stare. “ _You_ _’re not even playing for credits?_ ” he grumbled (or at least, that’s what Obi-Wan _thought_ was coming from that mask filter. Kyuzo was not the most practiced language in his repertoire.)

The intrusion was welcome; this Jedi’s skin had been starting to crawl with just Bane as his sole, quiet company—and Embo gestured like he wanted to be dealt in, which their smirking team leader obliged. “Hardeen’s karkin’ awful at this,” Bane provided as he passed out new cards.

Obi-Wan wanted to argue… but the universe certainly hadn’t shown him favor for the last five hands.

“ _Perhaps he_ _’s just been unlucky_.” Embo’s gaze glittered, like he was hungry. There was an awful lot of that look at this table. “ _Luck changes._ ”

“Hey. Deal me in too.” The Frenk woman across the way—Twazzi, if Obi-Wan recalled—wrapped up whatever she was doing with her weapon and casually cartwheeled onto another chair like mottled gray taffy. Just great; everyone here smelled sabacc-newbie blood in the water. “And put up some credits, ya cowards.”

Bane _tsk_ ed. His agile fingers darted inside his coat, pulled out a few glimmering tokens from the inner pocket. And something in his smirk finally triggered Obi-Wan’s realization.

Of _course_. He’d been letting his opponent get complacent in a no-stakes round to judge skill. Which was… _rusty_. And now that everyone present knew what this new hunter was worth, the money was coming out and challengers were weaseling out of the woodwork.

_…I’m about to get hustled._

But to back out would be tantamount to admitting he was both terrible at sabacc and afraid to take a risk. Neither of these things were something _Rako Hardeen_ would do.

…The coming days of hyperspace travel might get annoyingly expensive in addition to everything else.

Fortunately, both of the newcomers to the round seemed to be middling players at best. As Obi-Wan peered over his hand, disguising his disappointment at his cards, he could gauge Twazzi’s leg bounce. Eagerness. The turquoise slits of her eyes dilated on her draw. And Embo, he was a difficult nut to crack… but his fingers were starting to drum softly.

Neither would guess there was keen emotional sensitivity behind brutish Hardeen’s face.

Only Bane sat immune to analysis as always: his lips flatlined, his horizontal pupils far too needle-thin and faint to reveal pleasure or disappointment.

The draws and calls and pots came and went. It was almost fun with a little pretending—some of the clones back home played too, but they didn’t exactly own much to wager, and the stakes were low. Now, being disguised as a bounty hunter, testing luck and money between a bunch of dangerous scum… then winning…! Well, it was slightly gratifying, was all.

And Obi-Wan found eventually that most of his guesses were correct. Despite a few bad calls and bombing outs, he managed to keep even. But finally, after a couple hours of booms and busts, their illustrious dealer hunched over with a certain bent in his spine. Bane had let his hand stand for a while now, just lurking, like a snake prepared to strike. It hadn’t boded well. Perhaps he was tiring of games for the evening. His chuckle was a soft, pneumatic whistle, like the wind rustling over dead leaves, and as his agile fingers drummed the table, that red gaze burned them all through.

He drew a whole sack of credits from a hidden pouch then, letting it flicker into his hands like he’d pulled it from thin air. It plopped onto the table with a heavy jangle amidst their little ten-credit antes. “That’s two hundred.” Hungry teeth gleamed. “I’m calling.”

Kenobi stared. _Arrogant_. Where had Bane even dug up that kind of money since their fugitive run? Perhaps an advance from Dooku. Or perhaps he’d looted the dead.

Embo folded, gaze vanishing under his disc helm as he bowed an admission of defeat.

“You’ve got too much luck.” Twazzi sighed. “I’ll also be getting out while the getting’s good.”

Of course they were done. They’d probably both bombed out last draw, and Bane had known it.

Obi-Wan shook his head. This was too much money too soon. It was almost certainly a rich bluff designed to bully an end to the game. “Well, I for one am staying in.”

His opponent’s cocky smirk slipped. The defeated players perked with curiosity. “That’s interestin’,” Bane snapped, “Because ye’ve got _nothin_ _’_.”

“I’ve got more than you.”

“No,” he growled impatiently. “Ye don’t.”

“Well, if you’re so sure, you can raise that bet a little more if you like. Unless you don’t really have anything _either_.”

This sent a ripple of tittering around the table. Bane raised a hairless brow, but he fortunately didn’t reach for his pistols. He really didn’t like to be challenged, did he? “You even _got_ the credits to match me?”

That merited a hesitant swallow. Frankly… not as such, though Obi-Wan’s cards were indeed _excellent_ , more than enough to back up his grandstanding. His credits, however, were all on the table already after a particularly bad spell last hand. Perhaps he should be glad this was ending soon.

“Well?” the bounty hunter snipped.

Obi-Wan quietly apologized to the Council for wagering hard-won supplies in a silly game. But he needed to act like the kind of man that had the resolution to gun down Republic generals on his weekday evenings.

So he unhooked his thermal detonator from his belt and added it to the pile.

He’d be lying if he said this didn’t give him a little thrill too.

“…I’ll allow it,” Bane hissed softly, face steel.

_Of course you will. You don’t have another choice that wouldn’t make you seem weak._

The other hunters looked like they were almost salivating. “Go on, then, killer,” Bane whispered. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Obi-Wan laid down his triumph: a Four, One, and Five of Sabers, plus a Commander of Coins. A score of 22. It was honestly the highest draw he’d pulled this entire game.

“Oh shab,” Twazzi tittered, laughing. “Shab! Hardeen ain’t half bad at this after all!” Embo straightened and seemed pleased, perhaps of his decision to quit.

Bane frowned, sighing. “Hmm. Maybe so.” His cards drooped.

Obi-Wan smirked at them all, counting up his prizes and respect.

“ _But_.” And there went the stomach dropping. “Pure Sabbac.” That smirking face showed no mercy. Bane revealed his hand—an Ace, Five of Sabers, and Three of Coins.

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped. _Son of a_ _…!_

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Twazzi groaned in sympathy.

“I’ll be takin’ that.” Articulate fingers swept out over the table, sweeping in far more riches than they deserved. Obi-Wan slouched, tossing down his hand, hoping he wouldn’t need any credits during his short stay on Naboo after all.

Or a _thermal detonator_.

What was that again about _Anakin_ being the reckless one? He was getting too swept up in this!

Still, no one was scrutinizing him anymore, except with mild sympathy and increased respect for playing to the end… and perhaps for challenging Bane in his whole cock-of-the-walk act. The other two losers grumbled and started taking their leave, heading off to their bedding. They saw no point in hanging around, he supposed. Couldn’t get much broker until they had reward money in their pockets.

And Obi-Wan suddenly realized he was alone with his least favorite ally in the end, whose credits were glittering in his grasp, whose expression said that anyone stupid enough to remain was about to get hustled for even more.

More bonding time was not on Obi-Wan’s agenda. They’d already had too many cramped starship rides together, just staring and shoving and growling, thank you very much. He ruefully saluted a goodbye and stood. “Well played. Next time, I’ll be getting that back.” _And maybe I_ _’ll figure out how you’re cheating. Pure Sabbac my foot!_

“Heh.” Bane seemed as content as a sly Loth-Cat, nimbly depositing his new funds in hidden pockets. How he didn’t jingle when he walked was anyone’s guess. “Not a bad try, at least. _Almost got me_.” His tongue softly kissed and dulled those consonants as always, but now, _this_ intonation… it was like there was some hidden meaning… and it sent wary tingling up Kenobi’s spine. What _exactly_ was this man scheming? “Yeah, ye know what… we _should_ play again later.”

“I’m afraid I’m out of money.”

“Ye’ve got something else, I’m sure.” Those teeth kept baring wider and wider. Obi-Wan almost looked away on instinct. It was like there was another detonator lurking in this room that the man would find it deeply entertaining for him to step on. Heart accelerating, his adrenaline fired, warming him with electric readiness.

He knew he’d hesitated too long, not knowing how to act. There was really nothing _to_ say, he suspected.

And Bane only waved him on, that alarming smile glittering in the ship lights. “See ye soon, Hardeen.”

Obi-Wan turned and padded away, troubled, certain he’d conceded something more than a game of cards.

* * *

The night passed well. Though it took some meditation to find a re-centering, it was enough for this disguised Jedi to sleep without much incident. In the end, he’d decided to be out in the cargo hold too, rather than in a shared, cramped bunk space… never able to rest, exposed, surrounded by killers. At least the hold was fairly quiet and offered room. A few other hunters were also resting behind defensible crates of their own.

Sometimes in his sleep, Obi-Wan dreamed of red eyes, a prowler in the shadows. Still, it hadn’t kept him awake for long. He dreamed of a lot of things… blood… war… loss… regret.

Bane was nothing new, and would just have to get in line.

Breakfast rations weren’t great, when he rose to finally take them. Standard spacer fare. Dooku really only seemed to impart rewards once the job was done, but that was to be expected. The company in the central gathering room was silent, taking in their nutritionally-fortified goo—it seemed to be an unspoken arrangement that they eat in shifts of two or three, continuing to give maximum space to one another. Obi-Wan could swear Twazzi was sniggering with Moralo Eval when he walked in—they both stared at him speculatively while doing it too—but neither of them tried to start anything.

It would be wise to keep an eye on that.

In other news, Bane wasn’t there, just like Dooku. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. This little strike team’s illustrious leader had been hovering about constantly since they’d boarded, probably to keep them all out of the Count’s hair. The thought of him skulking at some unknown vantage point was unsettling at best. By the time Obi-Wan finished his bland porridge, he was more than ready to go back to his guarded little corner in the hold.

Just a day and a half more of this ridiculousness.

He returned to his sleeping area, the size of a coffin, surrounded by those boxes. At least nothing was sneaking up on him. But there he sat, alone. And alone, he tried to breathe out his unease. If he didn’t watch it, his face was going to permanently freeze in this scowl, no matter the cosmetic procedures he’d be undergoing when this mission ended.

Meditation did little. He couldn’t lose his air of prickling paranoia. His shoulders were squarer than they usually rested, his jaw taut. His grimace wrenched tighter. His gut clenched and unclenched.

Active meditation, then. Without his lightsaber, his fingers preoccupied themselves with disassembling his blaster, carefully tuning it and putting it back together.

Hardeen was a man who liked working with his hands more than sitting still, Obi-Wan decided.

But all this worrying about who Hardeen was, keeping up this act…

It made the Jedi in his skin think too much about who he was, too.

Everything was winding him up lately. Everything. Not long before this… there had been his ordeal on Zygerria. Despair. Humiliation. Innocents cowering from him in fear, for if he tried to help them, they’d be brutally punished. For the first time, he’d hated being a Jedi. His very existence had only brought others pain.

Intellectually, he’d known that these feelings… they’d all been part of the Zygerrian brainwashing, those attempts to break his very soul and make him a compliant slave.

But it had still felt real.

His hands began shaking. A blaster component fell from his grip and clattered to the floor. All he could smell, for a long moment, was the stench of those mining pits, the sweat, the burning ore… _the blood_.

Obi-Wan bowed his head, knowing that even if he hadn’t shattered… something inside him _had_ cracked there. Something he’d spoken of to no one.

_“Master,”_ he’d begged one of the guards, fight bleeding out of him. _“Please forgive me…”_

“Stop it,” he said to himself in the present, gritting his teeth. His stomach turned.

Was that why he’d been so eager to take this mission so soon after? To lose himself, so he wouldn’t have to think? So he wouldn’t have to say the word _Master_ pleasantly to his colleagues, to feel that word, _poisoned_ now, rolling off his tongue with a tremor no one else seemed to notice?

He’d been so helpless. He’d been _nothing_.

Hardeen was… stronger than he was right now, in some ways. Maybe that was from where these little thrills originated. This persona reminded him of a what-if he’d dreamed for himself when he was younger—if he’d never been born so strong in the Force, if he’d never been given his current path. It had been an idea his poetry and adventure books had placed in his head then, an explorer discovering the mysteries still left in the galaxy.

He’d been a little wild once too. Full of eager life.

Unbroken.

For all the gentleness and culture he’d cultivated and valued now, he still admired the fact that his Hardeen persona, at the very least, wouldn’t be so fractured by this endless war.

A soft rap suddenly fell on a crate around the corner. Obi-Wan bolted upright, retrieving the missing piece of his blaster barrel and sliding it into place. But he didn’t find an overt enemy coming to call: just Twazzi, her stare shimmering in the low light.

“Up for _almost_ winning again, Hardeen?” she drawled.

“I’m short on credits,” he grunted, dizzy, not entirely present.

“Too bad. Bane isn’t in this round. You might actually win this time.”

That piqued some interest, pulled Obi-Wan from his grim spiral. Perhaps he might establish himself better in this makeshift pack without a certain Duros trying to play his strings.

Perhaps he could put his head on straight.

He forced Hardeen’s rough accent through the squirrelly voice changer aching in his esophagus. “…Maybe a couple hands. Gonna need some capital if I’m gonna get my thermal detonator back.” He always did have a few grenades to add to the pot to get him started.

The woman chuckled. “A gambler if I ever saw one. Come on.”

Yes. Hardeen was a gambler, Obi-Wan decided. And often a winner.

This game went fairly well, especially when he deployed his cautious tactician’s wisdom to greater effect. After he got ahead by a hundred credits, he cut his winning streak. This was met with a few teasing cries, but overall, most players were only concerned with their own fortunes, and they didn’t mind a champion leaving so someone else might claim victory for a while.

His brain buzzed. Sitting in that rowdy mess, he’d started falling easily into his role. He’d pretended to guffaw at the bawdy jokes and had taken a swig from the Embo’s passed flask—that fiery wine had stayed down only after a long, choking sputter. And it had felt good. Nothing had _hurt_. At this point, most of the hunters were slouching over their seats too, a little tipsy, alcohol all that could lubricate their rough-and-tumble social skills. This was probably the most at ease with one another as any of them ever became.

A few patted his shoulder as he made for his quiet corner again, bleary and slightly tilted.

Team bonding… achieved.

What in the galaxy did they put in Kyuzon drink? Embo had to have the endurance of a _purrgil_. It’d only been a few sips…

“Zerek, Yirt, Xesh,” he recited backwards to dutifully test himself. “Vev. No. No, Wesk. _Wesk_.” _Force_ take him, he was actually _drunk_. Hardeen apparently lived a stupid and careless life, Obi-Wan decided, banging his shin on a crate.

Stupid. Careless. That also described him rounding the corner and banging his shin on a person, too.

Bane.

The man was leaning on the wall: right in the way, like a tall, lanky plague. His hat brim was down over his eyes.

Obi-Wan staggered, suddenly very threatened inside his personal space and with an equilibrium that almost shoved him forward instead of back. Why? Why did Bane have to resurface _now_ after safely spending the morning _anywhere_ but near him?

The hunter’s soft lilt punctured the liquor fuzz, sobering him by at least a percentage point. “ _Hardeen_. Gettin’ out of the game early?”

Obi-Wan laughed loud, because it seemed appropriate, because he’d indeed been Hardeen all these hours and it was almost easy. “Won enough to take you down next time.”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think sabacc is yer best skill. Requires a better face than the one ye’ve got.”

…What was that supposed to mean? “Well, _I_ think maybe I’m full of surprises.”

“Maybe ye are.” That crimson gaze glimmered. “Ye all talk then, Jedi-killer? Ye wanna make good on that challenge?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure which part of himself most craved just _smacking_ that smug look off the man. His veins burned. The only brakes he was able to pump was a cheerful retort that was like _Anakin_ speaking through him, maybe the stupidest channeling he’d done all day: “Well, if the mess table wasn’t already full, I’d wipe you out.”

“…My berth’s private. Got a table, too. No chances of drunks wantin’ to join so they can crush ye before _I_ can.”

_Danger_ , the flag in the back of Obi-Wan’s brain registered. _Danger_.

But what would Hardeen do?

Well. Even he hesitated.

“Ye scared?” Those mocking lips curled. “Is that it? Or is it… ye just can’t handle yer liquor?”

_…Did I really just back myself into this corner?_

“Well then, follow me.” Bane smirked. “If yer threats aren’t just pretty words.” He peeled himself off the wall like some kind of snarky sticker, all lean, slinking flow. Then he stalked away, back turned and utterly unconcerned, letting his swaying, tension-riddled opponent grimace blearily after.

_Focus. Center yourself. Don_ _’t let the wine dull you._ Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose as he scraped himself forward. Slowly, his steps steadied. Even if this drink hit human blood like a turbocharged hovercraft, he knew he could sober quickly with a little stalling. This was just another gambit played to establish dominance in this ragtag outlaw band. And _Hardeen_ had to respond in character, but…

The Jedi Knight in his skin didn’t intend to be an entirely easy mark. Not again, not for _this_ unpredictable bastard. The best way to deal with a man who’d escaped prison multiple times, who could hold several masters at bay and escape with mere bruises, was _cautiously_ , but Obi-Wan had done it before and he’d do it again.

…Truly, the last thing Bane should have been given was a thermal detonator.

_I_ will _get that back._

Their destination was probably the biggest sleeping quarters on this transport, other than wherever Dooku had holed up—though despite it having several beds, Bane had clearly pulled rank to keep it to himself. Ah. So that was why multiple hunters had set themselves up in the hold. Regardless, it was obviously a transient space: a lonely knapsack lay sealed in the corner, and a blaster cleaning kit lay open on the table, emitting an oily, acrid tinge. The weapons it serviced were now strapped to Bane’s narrow hips. They were never far from him. Never foolishly misplaced.

“What? See somethin’ ye like?” The question was nonchalant as Bane moved the kit to the floor, gesturing at said hips while tapping his sabacc deck on the table.

Obi-Wan tried to control the sudden flush of startled heat in his core, the widening of his eyes.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Well.

He didn’t take the remark seriously of course; the manipulative arsehole was just trying to keep him off balance. But if anyone had asked him what he’d be doing on this mission, he would not have replied, _listening to innuendo from Cad-bloody-Bane._

…Flabbergasting.

“Your blasters,” he responded, trying to recover, sitting. “LL-30s?” They seemed different from the ones stolen from the mercenary shop on Nar Shadda, more like Bane’s _usual_. Perhaps picking out a few new toys had been another perk of becoming team leader.

“Ye know yer guns.” The man gave an appreciative nod, settling himself and dealing the cards. Twenty credits hit the table’s center.

Obi-Wan frowned. That was a sizable starting pot for the kind of money he himself was bringing into this. Conservative play would be… wise. Luckily, he was relatively sure he could get through his Aurabesh backwards now. He matched the ante.

His opponent, strangely, seemed more at ease in this private space—slouching back rather than hunkering like a pissed gundark. Well then, perhaps Bane would be willing to talk. Distracting chatter had worked on plenty of Obi-Wan’s opponents in the past, and he leaned into it, deciding his hand was worth keeping for now. “So. Got any plans for that reward money once this job is over?”

The man smirked, taking his draw. “Lay low for a few weeks, of course… enjoy t’ings.” The lazy vocal drag seemed to imply he was already on a beach with a drink in hand.

“Anywhere special in mind?” Some shady hole in Hutt space, probably.

“Oh, a little cantina I know.” A meaningful pause. “…And there’s a mark I’ve been eyein’.”

“New mark? Already?” Obi-Wan drew the Four of Coins. Not terribly helpful. “You’re going to get enough credits from Dooku here to never work again, and you’re already lining up small-time bounties?”

“Isn’t that small time.”

They took a few turns, but finally, Bane clicked his tongue, actually folding and relinquishing the main pot. Obi-Wan was startled, but a new hand was dealt. _Up to one-eighty. I can bargain with that_. “Really, though?” he asked. “You’re not going to retire?”

Unnerving in its lack of joy, that dry chuckle scraped. “Yeah, I _could_. But would _you?_ ”

It was hard to say. Would Hardeen have sought out a quiet, small life, one day at the end of this road?

…Would a Jedi?

“Don’t think I know how.”

“Tch. That’s what I t’ought.” Bane’s ensuing silence was almost companionable, almost _friendly_ , as far as he probably went in for that—no nice smiling involved, but neither was there a sense of a waiting knife.

Two more hands came and went.

And eventually, the man’s teeth clicked, like he was mulling something over. “Were ye smart enough to arrange contingencies, if t’ings go bad?”

“…I might have.”

“Good. Smarter than ye look.”

The subtle needle. It was never far.

“Ye know…” he said suddenly, face entirely neutral. “The job I’m doin’ after this. There’s certain… hazards.”

“Oh?”

“Probably’d be easiest for two.”

Obi-Wan kept his mask steady, but only barely. That significant look from earlier… had Bane been angling him into this the entire time? “…You’ve seemed the type to rather work alone.”

“I am.” He added to the ante. “But sometimes, I make a… very rare exception. I’ve got problems with ye, Hardeen, but ye’ve got… certain skills. Certain principles. The pay isn’t bad, if yer wonderin’.”

This caught the air in Obi-Wan’s throat. An _offer_. This private game had been about business all along.

Trust. That was it. They’d gone through what they had, saved each other’s lives, and Hardeen had earned a near-impossible-to-achieve shard of respect and trust. He’d curried _favor_ between all those sharp-toothed snarls and smoking guns.

Bane _did_ have something like a friend in the universe after all, and he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, an emotionally unstable Jedi who had the express intention of deceiving him and throwing him back in prison, was it.

How very sad.

_Well, this development is either going to make my life easier or miserable._ _Perhaps both_. “I call. And maybe after I finish cleaning you out, you can tell me more about this… job.”

Bane’s answer was a purr. “Maybe I will.” A moment later, he laid out a hand that took over half of Obi-Wan’s previous winnings, devastating his progress.

“Well… kriff.”

“You might get it back next go.” A mocking, liquid shrug followed a soft chuckle. “Get some of that beginner’s luck you have goin’.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan drummed his fingers. He’d been watching the man carefully; Bane didn’t _seem_ to be pulling any sleight of hand. “You know, I’m not actually a beginner. So why don’t we make it more interesting?” He knew what he wanted; might as well finally get it on the table, then get out before any more surprises reared their heads.

“ _About time_.” Bane sat up straighter, eyes brightening.

“Yeah. You beat me again, and I’ll take you up on this partner job, 30-70, you with the 70.”

Pleasantly surprised hunger melted across those lips. “Not a bad deal. But if _you_ win?”

“I get all my money and my thermal detonator back. And the job’ll be 50-50.”

“Really? Ye want _this_ t’ing back?” It was innocently plucked from that belt, twirled between nimble fingers. That almost made Obi-Wan flinch, thinking about it hitting the floor. It could have taken the whole _ship_ out. “Worth a lot less, ye know.”

How unexpectedly fair, that observation. “Yeah. You’re right. Maybe I ought to also ask for your hat.”

One might have heard an insect sneezing in the silence—and for a second, the way Bane coiled up, Obi-Wan thought he’d pressed too hard with his cheek. It wasn’t like this hunter hadn’t killed someone for that hat yesterday, after all. Just walked up, goaded violence… then drew a gun first.

But suddenly, that mouth squirmed open, the dangerous mask breaking. Out fell a true bark of laughter. It was scraping and strange, yet utterly genuine.

Obi-Wan shrugged, wary, smiling.

Sharp amusement suddenly smoothed, abrupt calculations firing in those alien eyes. “Alright. Fine. Ye have a deal.”

“…Really?”

“ _But_ _…_ ye’d only get the hat until we land tomorrow.” His index finger rose solemnly. “To properly show off that ye really _can_ play the game to those hunters out there. I’m gonna need it after that. I’m not goin’ to nab the leader of the Republic lookin’ half dressed.”

Chuckling, Obi-Wan spread his arms in acceptance. To win was to get what he wanted, and to lose was to be committed to a deal he need never fulfill. “Alright. Agreed.”

The rounds passed back and forth. They upped the main pot slowly, small bets, the prize already agreed upon. But Obi-Wan found himself fighting to make headway. By round three, though a Mistress had canceled out his devastating Demise draw, he held only _five_ points. Awful.

Yet, round four gifted him a Ten of Coins.

Bane’s stare was impenetrable. He could have had nothing. He could have had everything. Either way, it seemed, he was going to hold his cards and play an unnerving, unblinking statue.

Fifteen points now. A difficult prospect. Probability-wise, this was both too easy to defeat and a fantastic launch point for getting torpedoed on the next draw.

Obi-Wan took his chances.

To touch the Eight of Flasks… it was a cool relief to his tense fingers. He was one with the Force, and the Force? It was with him.

23 points.

“I call.” He smirked, pushing another five credits into the pot. Bane had better get used to his hairless head being cold.

“That so?” The ante was matched. “Go on then. What have ye got this time?”

“Sabacc.” Obi-Wan spread his cards, coming as close to gloating as he ever had in one of these games. Maybe he _was_ getting carried away, and maybe it was the vestiges of that Kyuzon wine, but it was good to rub Bane’s face in something! Let him lose for once, the unbelievably smug degenerate!

And yet.

_Yet_.

Bane was only smiling in his quiet, savage way. “…Well played. Guess ye win.”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan was suddenly unsure that was true. “No mutual 23 to pull out of nowhere? No Sudden Death?”

“No.” Bane agreed. He tossed his hand, the cards landing carelessly face down like they were empty and meaningless.

Obi-Wan narrowed his brows in consternation… cheated, for some reason. The easy surrender was anti-climactic. And after the credits were pushed forward, Bane just stood up, handing over the detonator like nothing.

“…And your hat?”

“Hm. This?” This agile hands smoothed the brim, straightening it as he stepped away. “Well, sure. Ye won it. But yer gonna have to come get it, aren’t ye?”

Teeth ground. No. Bane would really make him enforce a deal? He was exhausted, and after all this was over, he had to stare down yet another _taunt_. Now off the man was going, slinking, hat just out of arm’s reach, his hands behind his back.

Stiffly, Obi-Wan followed, reaching up, making to rip it off that hateful head and be done with it.

But quick as lightning, the hunter whirled like liquid. Fingers shot up and pressed to Obi-Wan’s throat, backing him into the wall. His instincts fired, moving to parry, but—Bane didn’t actually do anything, no strike, no weapons. Just prodded the sensitive ball of cartilage over his vocal cords like a bird poking the ground for prey.

Frozen, confused, Obi-Wan vibrated with energy… and hesitated.

_Wait. What if he feels the voice modulator_ _…?!_

“Do ye know…” Bane hissed, fingers spreading, softly brushing the carotid artery. His face was serious as a blaster wound. “…What Duros eyes are good fer?”

Obi-Wan swallowed painfully. “What?”

“More than ye t’ink.” Those fingertips were dry, silky-smooth, like lizard skin. The tingle they left hardened the spine. “For example: I’ve been seein’ from the beginnin’ that yer a _liar_.”

Cold fear crept up Obi-Wan’s nerves. His forearm block had been halfway cocked, and now his palms were too high to reach his gun before Bane could reach his. Not that he’d ever been advantaged against the man in a quick-draw competition. His channeling of the Force was going to be ill-rooted too, sloppy in this stance, and—

“Yer blood gets up.” Bane didn’t move at all, just looming eerily. “Yer heart’s titterin’ in there right now. See it in yer… hot spots.” His fingers pressed. “Feel it, too.”

Too late, Obi-Wan realized the implications of that crimson gaze— _infrared!_ —wondering why he’d never thought of it before, wondering how stupid he had to be to…

“At least,” Bane said, chuckling, “That’s how ye get when ye’ve been lookin’ at _me_.”

Obi-Wan slapped that hand away, withdrawing to the side like he’d been burned. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“I’m sayin’ ye either wanna fight… or ye been wantin’ to _fuck_.” An amused smirk followed that blunt crudeness, punching between the eyes. “I ain’t a stranger to humans. I know yer signals.”

All that came out of Obi-Wan’s throat was a wheezing, half-aborted “ _What_ _…?_ ” Instantly, he was both mortified ice and embarrassed fire, putting his hands up defensively—and he knew that his heat and heart rate spike probably doomed him.

How in the galaxy could a worst-case scenario have been _worse_ than getting uncovered as an imposter? _Of course I_ _’ve been elevated!_ This man just set him _off_.

But that wouldn’t make sense to Bane. Oh yes, Hardeen was happy to save his life and stick close despite the back-and-forth sniping, to extend their time together for minor reasons, to accept invitations to be alone in his bunk _,_ and then on top of it all, to consider taking on partner jobs for the foreseeable future. Blood up, always amped, always _watching_.

Kriff.

Just… kriff.

And to deny this all was to invite a lot of dangerous questions about his true motives, wasn’t it?

“There’s no shame.” Bane chuckled, stepping in, closing the distance. He was near enough to feel his heat, to scent, overwhelming—and it was all the pleasant earthy oils from his gun cleaning kit, all leather kissed by Tibanna gas scorch… all the strange, dry, woody aura of a Duros. “Happens more often than ye’d t’ink.”

None of him was the stink of the rest of the crew or their ordeal. He’d probably washed. For a _reason_.

Well, that wasn’t something Obi-Wan wanted to pick at, so he didn’t. “Look, I’m not really—”

Thin, articulate fingers suddenly caught his chin like they were made of steel. They ran over his roughening stubble, a fascination. Of course, all others who’d made advancements on him had given him proper time to consider. They’d respected his rank or his friendship. Bane had no such niceties. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word about what happens in here. Not to no one.”

A flush radiated out from where those fingertips explored. Fire. It shuddered down Obi-Wan’s spine, pooling embers in his core.

_No. Just a physical response._ No matter how shameful… it wasn’t his fault. Companionship hadn’t exactly come simply or often during the constant mental siege of this war… of this _life_ , and… being touched… a proposition or otherwise…

It had been a long time. He almost instinctively pressed to it, dizzy. But alarmed, he pulled back. He didn’t want this, no matter how much lightning-adrenaline that precise killer’s touch created… it just… why…?

His skin _crawled_.

His skin _tingled_ and _wanted_.

He sucked in air with a tremor. Bane’s gaze narrowed, lips curling up in a dangerous leer.

Explanations about his reaction failed. A silver tongue lay stunned.

And the safety was at stake of a galactic leader who held together hundreds of worlds and uncountable lives. Obi-Wan knew he had to say something, yes—but the _only_ good words were the ones that averted suspicion and protected the mission.

His heart was beating too fast to summon those words. Too wild.

“This is just a—” _Misunderstanding_ , he’d meant to say. _Misunderstanding_.

Bane just leaned in, closing the gap. Dagger-teeth went under Obi-Wan’s chin, tracing his neck. Wild, articulate fingers chose to gently caress his jawline instead of cause him harm, pressing their heads close.

A shameful, surprised gasp escaped him, shock and warmth through his cheek. A startlingly pleasant warm tongue was following Bane’s fangs, taking his pulse. He nearly _jumped_. His spine rattled with dizzy waves.

The most dangerous man on this ship was coming a hair’s distance from ripping out his jugular, and all he could do was let out the softest, most surprised moan he’d ever heard himself make.

No. No, this was—

…It was…

He lifted his arms to shove Bane back, and then… he just didn’t.

Another growl suddenly built in the man’s chest, the questioning starting to give way to something iron-strong. He forced their eyes to meet again, keeping his prey pinned. “Take off your kriffin’ _armor_ , Hardeen.”

And though Obi-Wan shuddered in want and anger both, he acted on neither. He’d _frozen_. For just a moment, trapped and torn, he wasn’t there. He was on Zygerria. He was trying to escape an inescapable trap. And he’d been given an order: an impossible order. _Submit_.

No… no. He wasn’t in those pits.

But here… was it so different? His own body, his life… it was nothing, not compared to what he had to protect. If it had to be sacrificed…

He was helpless, and he was nothing.

No! He was a Jedi, and he was more than nothing, far from helpless, even if he was backed into a corner, and…

To protect the mission, to protect others… what if he needed to comply? Needed to _submit?_ Even if he could sense suffering already on his tongue. His heart was a frantic animal, throwing itself against the bars of its cage.

Bane was watching him carefully. Cunningly. Could he read it all? “Oh? Not that easy then, are ye?”

This wasn’t retribution, wasn’t the shock whips, wasn’t the blood and fear. Not entirely there, not entirely Hardeen _or_ Obi-Wan, a man gauged his enemy… perplexed.

Mirth was glittering in those crimson eyes. A hand patted his cheek, a soft slap. “Ye really don’t like being told what to do, eh? So. Ye gonna tell me to kark off?” He shoved Obi-Wan in the chest, forcing him again into the wall. “Ye seem to like doin’ that.” Without even thinking, Obi-Wan squared his stance, the adrenaline of despair and fear turning into preparedness. And to that, Bane just smiled, like it was exactly what he wanted to see.

_Oh_ , Obi-Wan realized.

On a squadron of hunters, no one was Master. There were shows of domination and deference, but contracts were entered into of free will.

He _did_ have control.

How was it that the entire galaxy could spin out and wrest autonomy from him, and _Cad Bane_ would remind him of it…?

Obi-Wan’s brain numbed, his heart pounding. He licked his dry, rough lips, thicker than the one’s he’d been born with, sensitive with confused desire.

This wasn’t about his wants, he reminded himself. Not about him at all. Bane had to make certain assumptions now. The mission required this man’s trust. His good graces.

But Obi-Wan didn’t feel like a Jedi, thinking like this—he didn’t feel like he was in his right mind, didn’t trust this feeling that said _yes_.

He didn’t know how to talk himself out of it, couldn’t even access his words _properly_. The truth was… complicated, obscured by fog and memories and desires and pain.

“Well then,” Obi-Wan said under a thin veneer of Hardeen, listening to his words as if he was outside his body. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

He would protect himself. He would protect his duty. He would protect his _people_ the only way he knew how right then.

Whatever happened, he would survive.

Bane made a victorious, smirking sweep inwards with his narrow, whipcord waist, pressing close… and suddenly, another’s body was all there was in Obi-Wan’s world, a whine in his ears.

It was… it was actually _satisfying_ , to feel those teeth and lips on his neck again, to realize they weren’t going to hurt him at all.

Something stirred deep inside him too, a rising tide of heat and surprise. A primal thing. A buried thing.

He didn’t expect Bane to answer in kind, to coil hands around his hips, to scent him and growl in approval.

This anticipation wasn’t fear.

Obi-Wan undid armor straps, tossed down his gauntlets. Made himself vulnerable. Let himself be the easy mark he’d sworn not to be. And so did Bane’s deadly gun belt get flung aside too, holsters and all, tossed on the table out of reach and scattered with the remains of sabacc cards. He’d never imagined Bane as _vulnerable_ , couldn’t look away from it—those nimble hands weren’t letting him think about it for long, undoing the last armor straps, tugging loose belts. It was aggressive, and yet controlled, as if to deliberately show no one was pulling a knife.

And then, there was only a moment of silent nothing between them, barriers gone, each measuring the other. Braced together. Fingers clenched up in each other’s fabric.

Then Bane shoved a startling grasp down his pants, and Obi-Wan’s eyes rolled back in his head. He lost an important piece of himself he suddenly couldn’t remember. “Oh…!”

His enemy’s pleased chuckle resonated through his body as those fingers squeezed. It wasn’t so distasteful as anyone might hope.

If this was for the mission, then why couldn’t it be enjoyed? Just a little? As _insane_ as it was? Why _couldn_ _’t_ he be someone else for a while?

That alien scent snaked its way through his nose again, those warm, calloused touches promising him something he’d forgotten in his years-long austerity. Bane’s flesh was so unnervingly pleasant to trace, wrapped tight to the steely muscles beneath.

A man who was neither entirely Hardeen nor Obi-Wan backed up roughly into a substandard bunk, was shoved down into the scratchy sheets. And as he was pinned and scented, as Bane purred and undid his trousers like an expert unholstering a pistol—he remembered someone he thought he’d tamed many, many years ago. He remembered the one whose heart had pounded wild under a sunset-purple sky, mouth dry, ready to tell a duchess what he’d give up for her. He remembered the one who’d crowed at the moon when he’d figured out how to finish his first lightsaber. He remembered the one who ran fierce, fast in his dreams, no cares at all, through the dirt and weeds of a homeworld he never remembered on waking, one that still held some place in his soul.

Under a pitiless, morally bereft Duros, he found his old wildness, here to save him. And it moaned unashamedly at getting sucked off like it wasn’t in his vocabulary to worry about tomorrow. Obi-Wan arched his back and whispered nonsense at the ceiling, gravity leaving his organs.

Before he remembered Bane’s _teeth_.

He froze again, crashing down, feeling them take a sharp line down his length… but they didn’t break skin, just traced a warning. Thin-lipped, grinning, the man had an absolutely wicked gleam to his eyes. “Ye humans are always so _ridiculously_ proportioned.” A testicle was tugged from cloth, just enough to elicit a sharp, cautionary wince. “And keepin’ yer weakest bits right outside yer body… s’nonsense.” Bane didn’t attempt any real damage though, and dizzy, panting, Obi-Wan finally let out a held breath.

“…I certainly didn’t expect complaints.”

“Do I look like I’m complainin’?” Bane nudged his hips with a playful knuckle, releasing him fully, unfastening his own trousers. “Hurry up. Roll over.”

Obi-Wan almost had something to say to that. One, he wasn’t sure Hardeen was much of a… receiving personality. Two, he wasn’t sure he was either. Three, he was not keen on _turning his back_ _on_ _Cad Bane_ while in such a vulnerable position.

And four… he was perhaps slightly curious about the nature of what was swelling hard inside the tight leather around those legs. Thank the Force there clearly _was_ something there and Duros weren’t some kind of cloaca-only species. The new-experience threshold here was already knocked over and burned down.

The man just narrowed a glare, long and burning. And slowly, he lowered himself, like a predator seeking to feed. Words puffing hot and immovable buried under skin, sending shudders in their wake. “Don’t make me ask twice. I can tell ye’ll _like_ this.”

Obi-Wan wondered if it was stupider to comply or stupider to be in this situation in the first place. But slowly, he shifted to his stomach, looking back, tense and wary—a warning that even if this looked it, it wasn’t deference. Bane responded by roughly seizing his canvas and fiber trousers and yanking them off. It sent every last defensive reflex clenching through Obi-Wan’s core. This was probably going to be quick and to the point then. Efficient. Like everything else the man was.

He supposed it was a relief that Duros equipment wasn’t entirely unrecognizable when it finally got pulled free. Bane’s shaft looked almost silky, flushed dark and stiff with green blood, a mottled bulb of flesh resting at the base. He was erect and twitching, a clear, slick fluid coating his tip… and he breathed harder under the eyeful of attention, rubbing himself in a display, growling.

The sight made Obi-Wan dizzier. Perhaps… this would be easy. Duros didn’t seem to be _quite_ as large as their human counterparts, for whatever evolutionary reason.

Then, common sense came knocking, and he realized the full implications of letting this continue, including visiting a medic after this was over and asking about xenodiseases.

“I don’t suppose you have— _oh!_ ” Bane’s deft hand had parted him, one digit sliding right in, coated in that slick his tip was leaking.

Oh. It was. _Ah_. Duros… they didn’t have fingernails. And _that_ was. _Interesting_.

Bane chuckled, his harsh, accented voice a rumble. “Yer not what I was expectin’. At all.” The finger curled, going deeper, like it was a hook right into a man’s soul. Alarm flared in Obi-Wan’s brain as aching pleasure started to burble in his core, that rhythmic tugging spasming a cry from his lungs. “What… what exactly _did_ you expect?”

“Yer just… yer keenin’! Lost in yer head and singin’ at me!” Bane made a peculiar series of clicks in the back of his throat as laughter consumed him, rubbing harder, making Obi-Wan’s knuckles curl into the sheets. What was even the point of dignity anymore? “How long has it _been_ for ye, anyway?”

The longer this conversation went on, the worse the embarrassment burned. “I… I’ve been occupied…” This was indeed true. A second finger suddenly joined the first, the touch burning wide, and Obi-Wan clenched his core, squirming away.

Surprisingly, Bane let him go.

Less surprisingly, he simply pinned him again and mounted him. “ _What?_ Afraid of a little pain?” His fangs latched onto his ear tip. Obi-Wan froze, not willing to let them lacerate. “Yer a strange hunter,” he panted. “Lookin’ out for others. Sharin’ yer damn prizes. Not takin’ what ye _clearly_ want. I expected ye to use some o’ that muscle to try and fuck _me_ instead… but ye don’t.” Obi-Wan’s breathing locked and stuttered as Bane entered him, inexorable, just pushing, shoving, forcing the way wide. It was almost paralyzing. Alright, so Duros equipment size maybe had been _misjudged_.

But he coiled his strength, charged. He didn’t recognize anything about himself anymore. “Did you _want_ to fight?”

A long string of syllables that were _not_ Basic—just something rhythmically close—fell out of that laughing throat. It might have been a curse or a prayer. And may he be forgiven, Obi-Wan felt both of those things too in this joining, in letting himself be _taken_ this way. “Maybe I would like that,” Bane finally breathed, panting in that ear, releasing it from his teeth. “Or maybe I like ye a little more like _this_ , surprisin’ me.”

Obi-Wan groaned in reply, sweating, burning up and getting harder, almost squirming under the weight. The truth was, it didn’t hurt, not anymore. The stone-stiff pressure up inside him was slick and smooth, pulsing and hot, and his body seemed perfectly happy to make way.

In the end, he didn’t fight. He chose not to. He didn’t know if that was traitorous or not. He just shuddered, overwhelmed, _existing_.

“Yer _still_ shit at sabacc, though.”

“Wha…?” Obi-Wan forgot how to speak as Bane’s hips started to grind. Startled vocalizations bounced from his lungs at the bottom of each thrust, lightning strikes to his core. He was no virgin, no, not after all his years—even if he’d hewn to the Order’s commands and sworn away attachments—but it had rarely been like this, so flagrantly, traitorously right. He was breathless and exhilarated; he was disgusted; he was _alive_. And he couldn’t help but think this was something he’d like to feel _again_. There was no resistance at all, just lubrication and pounding heat and crackling pleasure and soft cursing in his ear. He grabbed sheets, grabbed a narrow wrist, and he held tight, not knowing who he was—but for one fleeting moment, he swelled with something dangerously close to joy.

But it would be over soon.

The mission would go on, and he’d be given back his name and title and life.

This man over him would be sent to prison for the rest of his days.

Obi-Wan’s hand stopped stroking himself, though Bane began working his body harder, faster, and his treasonous voicebox couldn’t stop breaking with its grunts of startled pleasure. He didn’t deserve to feel this. It _shouldn_ _’t_ be enjoyed. Was he mad? Was he _insane?_

But those wonderful calloused hands seized him and stroked, rough and urgent as their hips pounded. Frantic. Fire and pressure lanced from his tip to his aching core, and he couldn’t fight it, couldn’t do that and still hold onto all the different facets warring inside his heart.

He spilled himself all over a Bane’s sheets only moments before the man gasped in his ear and went rigid.

There was nothing for a while.

Heat and light. Floating and waves.

And then, Obi-Wan was a man again, a man with too many natures, pressed flat on his sticky, churning stomach. He hurt. The weight of his enemy was crushing him.

His shoulder stung. Glancing over, he saw red smudging the pillow. Bane had apparently bitten him, though those fangs hadn’t sunk deep. Just a glancing scratch. Maybe there was some restraint after all in that unfathomable head.

_I didn’t even notice._

His partner was breathing softly, evenly, still lodged deep inside him and pulsing. Occasionally, those lean, tight muscles flexed and shuddered.

They said nothing. The air was salt and sweat, ozone and earthy musk. It dared to smell _good_.

“Don’t karkin’ move for a minute,” came a slur between his shoulders.

Obi-Wan silently complied, a seeping, hot mess starting to leak between his legs. The air turned sour-sweet.

His wildness was breaking like a moonlit dream. The sun was coming back to him.

And this had been a terrible idea.

But his body clung to it. How he no longer began and ended in exactly the same places. How those dextrous, rough hands were absentmindedly tracing his hips, like they were something truly worth enjoying.

How he’d chosen this all, and how it was _good_.

The minutes crawled past, aching and awkward and warmly fuzzy at the edge. Hot breath rushed past his ear, getting low and even. “I still get your hat,” Obi-Wan finally croaked, worried Bane was just falling asleep up there and would need encouragement to be dislodged. “Won it. Fair and square.”

“Oh… did ye now?” The man made an odd wheeze. He suddenly withdrew with a groan, rolling away to the side between the wall and his bedmate. The action sent a chill and a moan through the sore, conflicted body left behind. “Sure. Whatever. Maybe soon, ye’ll have enough credits to buy yer own kriffin' hat. We’ll be goin’ to Tatooine after this, by the way. Maybe… we’ll have some more fun there too.” His lewd tongue traced his lips.

Obi-Wan, throbbing, startled, and sinking inside, watched him. Bane was disheveled and unguarded in a way that seemed almost foreign. The hat that had started the whole mess was thrown to the floor. He was taking off his red shirt finally, as if needing to cool down, slinging it carelessly over his berth frame. A torso full of strange scars and hidden stories was bared—and his dripping member was just hanging out of his trousers, unashamed.

Obi-Wan waited until those crimson eyes closed in contentment so they couldn’t see, and then, he lied. “…I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good.” Bane waved an arm like a dismissal. “Go on. Get out. Have yer fun. But don’t get a single scratch on my hat, or I’ll shoot that pretty dick of yers clean off.”

Obi-Wan, unsettled and new, tingling and spent, guilty and cold… he rose on his cramping legs, then pulled himself into his pants and into his armor until he felt like he might pretend this hadn’t happened. As if that musky, gun-oil scent wouldn’t follow him all day now. Like he wouldn’t keep reaching to mark the stinging tooth-tracks on his shoulder.

Like he was ever going to forget.

That haunted him. Just as it haunted him to feel long-tamed rebellion and passion stalk the cage inside his heart.

The hat almost made his hands burn, to pick it up from the ground.

“Go ahead,” Bane said. “Put it on. Maybe it looks good on ye.”

Obi-Wan snorted, though he _did_ need his hands free to finish buckling his straps. He let that wide-brimmed leather settle on his crown, for just a moment.

Immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

From Bane’s smirk, he realized it would be no trophy out there, no declaration he’d won at some silly game of cards. It would mark him. A _claim_. And some of the others would be able to tell. Some of them perhaps had noses that didn’t lie.

Obi-Wan went to the table and flipped over the face-down hand Bane had conceded.

An Idiot’s Array. The one hand in the galaxy that _could_ beat Pure Sabacc.

His heart pounded harder.

_He let me win._

The man chuckled from the bed. From his gleaming grin, it was clear he was enjoying this.

Obi-Wan left that room, subdued, knowing he’d lost and losing count of how many ways. And yet, hat tucked under his arm like a secret, he felt much less regret than he thought he should.


	2. The Invisible Chain

Darkness. Trapped.

Obi-Wan wanted to run, a furious electricity storming under his skin, but walls pinioned him in. He was in a box, a tomb, just big enough to pace three steps forward and three steps back. All he had was dark silence. Alone. Rotting. Forgotten.

Never to run again.

And he sat upright, breathing hard and shuddering.

Awake now.

It was still dark, but of a different kind—that of a soft room, not the cold shadows of a cage. There was a gentle glow coming from between his curtains: the never-sleeping, hundred-stories-deep illumination of Coruscant.

His core was throbbing, aching. His heart pounded. For the barest of moments, he’d thought… thought he’d heard screaming. But when he fully awoke, that vanished too. This night took in his fear and kept it secret, just like it did all his other failings.

Two weeks ago, his infiltration mission had succeeded and come to an end. Two weeks ago, he’d returned to his life… a heavy, dim cloud over his mind and heart.

The Chancellor was safe. All the routed plotters were in prison now, awaiting various trials—and that included Cad Bane. Solitary confinement seemed to be that man’s new lot; he’d wasted no time killing someone in the detention center cafeteria after his renewed incarceration. Obi-Wan didn’t know who had died or why. Some things were confidential even to a Jedi council member, unless he wanted his prying to go on the record.

Keeping an eye on Bane’s doings seemed prudent though. The way the man had lunged as he’d been subdued, threatening to murder the one he’d trusted, saved… then been betrayed by… well… Bane didn’t seem the kind who forgave and forgot.

 _“I’ll fill ye full of blaster bolts!”_ That guttural, raging spittle had flecked Obi-Wan’s face, and he had yet to feel as if he’d properly washed it off.

Forgiving. Forgetting. That was mutually… difficult. Honestly, even calm acceptance would be healthier than his current obsessing, and far more in line with his code, but everything seemed stacked against him—the endless debriefs and interviews about his experiences, the inquisitions from well-meaning and angered friends who’d attended his funeral not long back… and last week, he’d even needed to track down a discreet non-temple medic. The doctor had _not_ been shy with invasive inquiries, that was certain.

It was for an invasive matter, but _still_.

At least the tests were all negative, by some miracle. Imagine that: Bane was clean.

Every day a new reminder, Obi-Wan found himself reconsidering his secrets again and again. Better choices he might have made. Better words. Better _anything_.

He didn’t _really_ feel guilty, he reminded himself, and went to go prepare some caff to drink. The lot of those hunters had deserved what they’d gotten, Bane most of all. Hostage taker. Jedi killer. Child kidnapper. Willing to unleash anything at all on the galaxy for the right price.

Guilt wasn’t what he deserved to have felt at him in any star system.

So Obi-Wan refused.

Instead, he lightly traced a spot just above and to the right of his collarbone. There was nothing there. He just remembered the stinging scratch of teeth sometimes in these early mornings. That was all.

_Stop it._

The bitter caff cast off his dreams and straightened his spine. It was time to go about his morning. And for a moment, his quarters didn’t feel like a cell.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker was displeased. Of that, Obi-Wan could be certain. He was also certain Anakin wasn’t going to let him forget it for the rest of his life.

“You just… you all should have told me,” his young comrade snapped, apropos of utterly nothing. Anakin’s brown hair flurried from of his eyes as he spun to accuse yet one time more—the empty classroom made his shout resonate. Taut, his muscled shoulders rolled, his stance squared like he was preparing for another duel.

They’d been doing a low-stakes saber demonstration for some younglings earlier, their first mutual assignment since the infiltration mission’s end. Somehow, Anakin had kept his cool for the children. But with the way he’d thrust his training sword, with the sort of chilly precision that might decapitate a man, one could know the shift in the tides long before the hurricane had landed.

“I wish I could have told you,” Obi-Wan sighed, knowing it was a pointless excuse. At least it was true. He honestly _would_ have preferred a world in which informing his former student of the cover-up would have been wise. But they’d been over this ten times now, each time just as inconclusive as the last, and he was starting to run out of things to say that he actually thought would help.

“It’s always like this!” Anakin continued, driving his palms down on a nearby table. “You could have trusted me with this, that you were going undercover! Instead, you made me think you were dead! I could have _seriously hurt_ you back on Orondia! Maybe even killed you!”

 _Because you chased after Rako Hardeen for revenge, thinking I was my own murderer,_ Obi-Wan wanted to say. _A revenge mission! From a Jedi Knight! This is why the council watches you so warily!_

What he said was, “I’m glad it didn’t come to that. I…”

“And then, I find out you demanded no one send backup! You wanted to run a deception like _that_ past people like Bane and Dooku _with no backup?_ I finally learn the truth, that you’re alive, after mourning you for days on end—and then I wasn’t allowed to help! You deliberately wanted to make sure _I_ couldn’t help!”

“Anakin.”

“And Yoda! He has the absolute nerve to tell me that I’m…” Anakin’s voice cracked with anger. “That I don’t get told things because I’m dangerous. Unpredictable. To both my friends and enemies.” He snorted derisively. “Yeah, well, maybe I’d be a lot less unpredictable if I was told things. Did you ever think of that?”

“ _Anakin_.”

His friend seemed to have temporarily worked himself into the silent huff cycle of his raging. He didn’t respond.

“Alright.” Obi-Wan breathed. “I… I know. I _know_.” He didn’t know how to say how worn thin he was. Nor did he know how to convey his genuine affection and respect alongside the hard reality that Yoda was _right_. Anakin would have fought _loudly_ about the entire foundation of the mission. He would have found some way to sneak behind enemy lines and ensure his former master was watched over. He would have demanded plans where the sacrifices wouldn’t be exacted on those he held dear.

Anakin would pay almost anything for a friend’s wellbeing, without thought, without regret. It was dangerous, for a Jedi to feel that way.

And it would have undermined the safety of the galaxy.

Obi-Wan sighed, grimacing. It was impossible to make Anakin hear that all these things were precisely why he’d been placed at arm’s length… and also why he was his dearest friend in the universe.

“Please.” Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder, too exhausted to continue. “I am sorry for putting you through that. Truly, I am.”

For the first time in a while, their gazes truly met. A wall of pain and mistrust reflected back… but also a flicker of wary concern. Then Anakin glanced away. “You’re… not looking well.” His fists finally uncurled.

No matter what, Obi-Wan knew, his near-brother wanted him to be okay. “I haven’t slept peacefully since my return,” he admitted.

“Me neither.”

“Perhaps we should both get some rest. We can talk later.”

“Yeah.” Anakin shrugged away the touch. Finally, he stalked off.

Obi-Wan simply watched him go.

The white halls of the temple’s education wing were quiet after he finished cleaning up. Empty. Serene. Anakin had probably hurried into a training hall to work out his aggression, which was for the best—Obi-Wan wished in some ways that they could speak more of this, for even if his friend cared too deeply and unconventionally, he did care. It would mean something, to concede to someone that…

…that…

He shuddered.

That something was still cracked, deep down.

But too many burdens would just make Anakin worse, would reinforce to him that the Council’s decisions were unworthy of trust. And beyond him, well, this wasn’t a matter Obi-Wan would have spoken of with just any of his colleagues. Ahsoka was in the temple also, Obi-Wan supposed, but he would never weigh down her young Padawan shoulders with something of this nature.

_And she was the one who found my supposedly dead body._

What could that have possibly felt like?

Something was tight in her jaw when she saw him now, no matter her grin. Now that he thought of it, despite her eager welcome home… she hadn’t been around much.

_Avoiding me._

Obi-Wan wandered to his room, sat on his meditation cushion. He didn’t really deserve Ahsoka’s trust for a little bit either, he supposed.

That left Duchess Satine on his list of deeper friendships.

A hazardous prospect.

She actually _was_ here on Coruscant. She was also, last he checked, _extremely angry_. He had no less than three messages from her informing him how happy she was that he was alive so she might _utterly wring his neck_. If he knew her, and he did, she would be safe to approach for a long span of _not now_ , unless he’d like to get thrown off her balcony in the first five minutes.

He chuckled, a fond half-smile seeping across his face. Her heart was in the right place, but anyone who said the Duchess didn’t have Mandalorian fire was sorely mistaken.

Alone for now, then.

Alone with his thoughts.

Perhaps that was for the best. Even when time healed these rifts, he could never tell others _everything_ that had happened. No one _should_ know fully of the darkness he’d passed through. It would disturb. Undermine trust.

He had to learn to live with the past as best he could.

Why was it, with all the bright air and open sunshine of this temple, he felt so… confined by that simple truth? Haunted?

…Trapped?

Eventually, Obi-Wan laid down to rest. But rest, he didn’t find. For it was dark in his dreams. Cold stone. Tight walls, just as before. His belly ached with hunger and an anger so strong and bright it might have set fire to his skin.

Trapped. He was trapped here, and he might very well die soon.

A strange hum snapped his attention up from where he lay. At the far end of his tomb was an energy field, now deactivated. Stepping through it were three clone soldiers. The field reactivated behind them once they were through.

Obi-Wan suddenly recognized this place. This stale, stinking air.

“We came,” the soldier in the lead spoke, “To pay you a visit about our brothers that died during your little riot the last time you were here.”

Obi-Wan didn’t even have time to coil up and defend himself before an electrostaff slammed into his throat, drowning him a tidal wave of agony.

He sat up, gasping for air, clutching his neck.

It was night. Again.

Remembered pain shuddered up and down his spine.

The penitentiary.

Bane.

He’d been dreaming about _Bane_ all this time, and he’d known it deep down, but never so… so clearly. Night after night… the man was confined to solitary in that dank detention center, not so far away. Close enough, apparently, for a Jedi’s dreams to find him.

 _Why? Why won'_ _t you just leave me alone?_

He didn’t care for this last vision. No. It felt like truth. Like the flashes of gravity and knowing of a message from the Force.

But that could mean _many_ things. That which was real… that which _might_ be real someday… that which he was simply afraid of.

It could even just be a dream, nothing more!

But what it said…

No. He couldn’t linger on it. The potential beating of unarmed prisoners riled him, no matter who it was—of course it did! But relaying it to higher powers… he couldn’t do that either.

 _Why Bane?_ the Council might ask. _Why would you see him?_

 _Well_ , Obi-Wan thought, _apparently, I forged a bit of a connection when I let him bugger me. You know! Like we do on undercover missions!_

And even if he did have an excuse, what care was there to give to this matter when there were trillions under fire across the galaxy?

Frustrated, embarrassed, and all-around furious, he just smacked a nearby glass of water from the table, left over from the day previous. It clunked on the floor, spilling everywhere.

In the end, he could only stare at the puddle. _…Why would I do that?_ Something so pointless and self-defeating! Huffing, he got up and got a towel. Anakin was clearly rubbing off.

But the act of cleaning got him to slow down. Restored a bit of sense into his head. _We saved each other_ _’s lives_ , he reminded himself. _We created a bond, even if it was predicated on a lie. It_ _’s probably not… what we did later. The Force doesn’t work that way_.

Of course, who was he to say how the Force worked, at this rate?

He sat amidst his mess.

He couldn’t just ignore Bane, could he? Every night, another dream. Every morning, a strange crawling under his skin, like _this_ was the wrong shape he was in—Obi-Wan Kenobi the disguise instead of Rako Hardeen.

The Force did not present visions without reason.

 _Perhaps_ _… I need to go see him._

But what would he do then? What would he say?

Obi-Wan didn’t have answers to those questions. He simply sat, held a cracked water glass in one hand, and bowed his head.

* * *

The Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center was a much different affair for visitors than it was for “residents.” Though it was an austere place throughout, the _nice_ entrance, at the very least, had calming advertisements for support groups during loved ones’ hard time. Someone had even put blue flowers on the desk where the reception droid hummed.

Naturally, the maximum security wing and its highest value war criminals didn’t get a lot of visit requests. One couldn’t even get in to see those lowlifes without some rank. But, the droid accepted Obi-Wan’s clearance with nothing more than a few token beeps.

“Enjoy your visit,” its automated recording chirped. “And remember, commissary can be forwarded to a detainee from any of the kiosks in the lobby.”

Wouldn’t that just improve Bane’s mood? A nice gift pack of crackers.

The clone escort that arrived once Obi-Wan cleared the front entrance said nothing, no questions about his visit or why. Jedi could do much of what they pleased. This was one discretion Obi-Wan was thankful for; the guards would likely even leave him alone at the cell door.

He could only hope his own colleagues wouldn’t take interest in the record of his visit.

The lift ride was long, or perhaps, it only felt that way. Bane was on his cot when they finished the descent to his block, the guards quickly departing, heads inclined in deference to one from the temple. Their prisoner had no leather armor or wide-brimmed hat or rough duster now: just another man in dirty orange with a number on his back. His blue face was sickly, sunken, and sharp in the crimson energy field’s glow. His hanging fingers tapped a robotic, absent beat on his bed frame.

That illusion of weakness lasted for all of ten seconds. As Obi-Wan stood there, gazing at this all-too-familiar, dark, coffin room, Bane’s head tilted up. His eyes widened. And any vestige of his usual cold, smirking demeanor never even got the chance to manifest. He _roared_ , charging the energy field, getting blown clean back into the wall. That didn’t stop him. He curled into a crouch, like a beast about to spring, eyes seething with blood-rage.

“ _KENOBI!_ ” That spitting bellow, surrounded by fangs, seemed almost madness.

Obi-Wan said nothing. There was nothing adequate to say.

Suddenly, though, Bane drew inward like a snake’s coil, raising himself from the ground. He became the wall Obi-Wan remembered, the predator stalking forward. The confident slink was enough to drive a paranoid ice chip into even a seasoned Jedi’s heart—coming forward in a half-circle, a prowler scanning for a gap in defenses.

“I’m gonna kill ye,” Bane whispered, stabbing one finger forward. The harsh hiss was dripping with hatred. He really didn’t have to add more to that threat. Obi-Wan was quite certain it was real and required no additional imagination.

“No hello for a former comrade then.”

Bane spit at him. It vaporized in a burst of static.

Alright, no, perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed that button. Sarcasm helped him stay focused; what could he say?

“I _will_ kill ye,” Bane snarled. “And I have _nothin_ _’_ else to say.”

With that, he turned, putting Obi-Wan at his back. His pace took him to the farthest end of the cell, and there he sat, like he had no visitor at all.

Bruises were curdled up around the back of his neck, wide dark ones, the color of rotting Jogan fruit. Ah. So the beatings had been mostly confined to what his uniform would conceal.

Obi-Wan’s stomach churned.

Coming here was foolish. He had originally settled on bringing up some banal interrogations about Dooku, perhaps offering some credits in exchange for information about the Separatists. He’d known of course that Bane would never agree to that and the conversation would go nowhere; this hunter was far too professional to betray his clients. What this truly was, however, was an excuse to just _be_ here. To look at the roots of a deep personal imbalance.

To see with eyes unclouded.

And here the man was: the shadow in dreams locked away, stewing in his hatred with nothing and no one else he could harm, most of the world against him. He was a monster in a cage barely big enough to pace. And perhaps that was cruel; perhaps it was suffering. But there really wasn’t another solution in their world. Perhaps it was what justice had to look like for now. And Bane, it seemed, wasn’t ready to talk to the one who had done this to him.

Obi-Wan realized he’d just wanted to confirm all this was true. Everything had gotten under his skin in a way too intimate and personal for him to process, given him secrets he’d take to the grave: a whole bubbling tide of feelings and poison… just toxin of a different ilk than the kind he’d taken from Zygerria.

But Bane was here, and all that was _over_ now. Could his mind understand it, seeing him like this? Could he finally forget?

“Would you like me to look into the guards that did that to you?” He didn’t know why he asked. But this treatment… it was against everything a truly civilized society was supposed to believe in.

Bane offered no answer in return, not even a growl or a _Kark off!_ His shoulders tensed, but his demeanor remained cold and unmoved.

So Obi-Wan turned on his boot and padded away, far from satisfied, knowing there was nothing else. He did, on his way out, request access to security. It turned out, the cameras around Bane’s cell seemed to have suffered a temporary malfunction the night previous.

Of course they had.

Obi-Wan sighed, knowing there was nothing more to be done unless the man filed a complaint, which he wouldn’t, and even if he did, it likely wouldn’t be investigated.

Such was the nature of this place. He’d been warned before his time served in Hardeen’s skin. But this time, he was allowed to leave, no bindings, no bounty on his head.

Soon, he was outside. The sinking sun was setting fire to the horizon once more.

And the Jedi watching it wondered if he’d really found any peace at all, or if it had been so long, he’d forgotten what that was supposed to feel like.

* * *

The days passed, then weeks, the months. Slowly the dreams began to fade, just like the ones of the slave pits. It was easy to decide closure had indeed been reached. Finding his poise, Obi-Wan re-established who he was—a general on the move, leading campaigns against the Separatists and safekeeping worlds. He let himself gift his body and mind once more to the greater good of hundreds of star systems. His clarity returned.

For a while.

And yet, something still sometimes breached the surface of his calm, strange urges buried deep. After a minor ground skirmish in the Mid Rim, he’d let himself go wandering for absolutely no reason. He’d found himself an hour later, waist deep in a field of swaying, golden grass, looking up at the world’s red sun and daydreaming of just… going. He didn’t even know how or where. A small ship of his own? A big transport, where he’d be faceless and cloaked?

The breeze stirred under his arms like the lift under a windsail. It seemed to ask if he wanted to be free.

He’d returned to camp and obsessively assisted the clones with their duties for most of the night.

Another time, he’d found himself locked in a heated debate with the Duchess Satine, over a dinner he’d meant to use to _mend_ matters between them. It had been about his role as a supposed peacekeeper in the Order, whether his kind’s presence was helping or hurting the innocents of this endless war. It was an easy to rekindle argument. Usually it just ended with grumbles and quips and a silent agreement to roll their eyes and drop it for a while longer. But this time, he’d raised his voice and stood, snapping about his critical position in helping to end suffering—and did she even know what he’d _been through_ to ensure that?! She’d slammed her drink down and informed him that, under no uncertain terms, she was visiting Coruscant to lobby for her people, not to try to teach a wild brute how to be civil.

The phrasing had taken his breath away.

She’d simply glared, inviting him to leave her chambers at once. Her personal assistant for the evening seemed to be desperately attempting to merge into the floor so she could become a potted plant.

He’d left both them and his dinner behind, heart racing in a panic-skip. Then he’d paced down the halls, all the way to his own rooms, wondering at and replaying the scenario.

_Wild brute._

Teeth. He kept thinking of sharp kriffing _teeth_ , smiling, mocking his put-together robes, his carefully built reserve.

He kept thinking of being Hardeen in Obi-Wan’s skin.

_Stop it!_

There wasn’t anything to this. No. _Wild brute_ —that was just how Satine talked sometimes, cutting with her words like her ancestors did with implements of war. She’d just lost her temper. That was all.

She hadn’t seen the thing under the surface, changed and wrong. She couldn’t have.

He’d wandered, alone, lost. Anakin and Ahsoka were both on a mission many star systems away. And even if they’d been here… they likely wouldn’t have been available. Wouldn’t have been ready.

Their distance persisted.

His feet took him to the library. There were often times now when he’d go there, like it was a place that held the answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. Like he might just glance up and discover the section and book he’d been looking for.

He would leave without anything of the sort, of course. No matter how many times he checked.

Sleep began to evade him again.

Finally, after another fleet battle in which he’d used the aftermath to mentally retreat and go dreaming of personal starships and anywhere-but-here, he requested three weeks of leave. It wasn’t done lightly. He was probably the first to do it without an accompanying hospitalization since this war began.

But it was granted immediately, with frank support. It seemed it was hard to conceal so much turmoil from the Council on which he served. Imagine that.

He didn’t leave Coruscant. The last time he’d been allowed to do whatever he wanted off the radar, he’d done Bane, and that was… unhealthy. No, it was better to stay within the temple walls, meditating, resting, and trying to find his center. Offers of assistance, he turned down. He wanted no one examining him under a microscope.

Once more on one of his wandering nights, he found himself in the library, walking and thinking after most others had gone to sleep.

But this time, his sojourn was interrupted. This time, he received company: a soft shuffle of feet. He glanced behind.

“Master Yoda?” The realization made him flinch. His oldest teacher was looking up at him, unblinking, measuring. Instantly, Obi-Wan’s digestion began doing something he could only describe as an internal scamper. It was very uncomfortable.

“A pleasant night for a walk, it is.” the old man voiced. The looked at each other for a long moment.

“…Yes. Very.”

“Seem to find the nights _very_ pleasant for walking, you do.”

Obi-Wan hissed in air through his teeth, knowing this was a… discussion. Yoda’s unhurried shuffle made him slow his steps out of respect, but he was more inclined to flee. “Answers, it seems you are seeking, here in the archives.”

“…Perhaps.”

Yoda just patiently stared, like he was about to toss one of the nearby datapads at his former student’s thick head since it was too tall to reach.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I haven’t been quite right lately. You’ve probably noticed.”

“Troubled, you’ve been, for some time. Surprised, I was, that you didn’t seek time to recover sooner.”

“I… I didn’t think I’d need to. I’ve done hundreds of missions. I haven’t always been fine, but…” This thing, it boiled at his gut now, the knowings he couldn’t speak.

“Happened, something did.”

Obi-Wan held his breath.

“This is why you sought out Cad Bane in prison, yes?”

The held breath spilled out in a sucker-punched rush. He didn’t need to ask how Yoda knew. Any council member suspicious of his mental health could have pulled that information. The price of nosiness.

“Not easy it is, Obi-Wan, to have lived in a second skin. Talk of your experiences, you should. Often in the wisdom of our friends and allies, answers you will find that are not in books.”

Yoda rarely commanded. It wasn’t his way. But truly, in his dark gaze was something deeply concerned.

And Obi-Wan… he felt compelled to follow behind that aged hobble, desperate and lost.

* * *

Sitting on the small circular meditation chair, it was easy to feel like a youngling again, too big and awkward to fit, too abashed not to try. But Yoda made them tea, let Obi-Wan come to his words in his own time. Together they sat, across from each other, sipping in the soothing herbs.

When he’d broken his first lightsaber… yes. That was when he’d first had this tea, right here in this office.

Now, his former teacher looked up at him patiently, as if he’d had nine hundred years to practice waiting, and he could continue to do so all night if needed.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. Despite it all, to be around another person was a relief. “Yes. I… did go visit Bane.”

“And how was it?”

“Terrible. Awful idea.”

Those pointed ears simply dipped in acknowledgement.

“I shouldn’t have done it. I barely know why I wanted to see him in the first place. Perhaps I just needed to see that he’s actually put away, that _that_ whole chapter is over.”

“Mmm.” Yoda seemed troubled. But he added nothing.

“I know it was pointless. But for some reason… I don’t know. I had to.” Obi-Wan pursed his lips, aware he was being defensive. He had to pull this thorn out of his heart, regardless of how it would sound. “…I’ve had dreams of him in his cell.”

“Concerned, are you, with how he fares?”

“Honestly… I don’t know.” And it troubled him deeply that he didn’t. Being certain of his internal landscape was something that had both kept him alive and helped him achieve his current rank. “He’s furious in there, particularly with me.”

“He suffers?”

“…Yes. I believe so.”

“Natural, it is, for a Jedi to be concerned about the suffering of their enemies.” Obi-Wan blinked. That wasn’t exactly something spoken of often in this temple anymore. “After all, if our enemies had no suffering, our enemy, they may not have become.” Yoda bowed his head, large marble eyes briefly closing. “All of us, young Kenobi, are connected through the Force. This, you know. And our enemies, _strong_ connections they can have to us. Teach us things, they do. About themselves. About ourselves. Thinking often of our foes, sitting in their suffering… the first Jedi with this problem, you are not.”

Put so succinctly, Obi-Wan had to just stare down at his tea, stunned. “I… am not sure I want to meditate over my connection with _Bane_.”

Yoda chuckled. “Choose who we have ties with, we do not. Choose what to do with them… we can. But more on your mind there is, I suspect.”

Why did he have to be so bloody perceptive? Honestly. “I think this is also about my time on Zygerria.” Guilt welled inside. “What they put me through in those slave pits, Master Yoda… I was honest in my report. Entirely. But I don’t know if I conveyed how I… how I almost broke.”

“Seem broken, you do not.”

That almost made Obi-Wan’s spirits lift, like a tired, bleeding animal raising its head at the sight of a friend. “It felt otherwise. Everything I was trained to be, everything I am… in there, it only made others suffer. Any generosity or compassion could get the other slaves killed. I had to stop thinking like a Jedi. I had to _beg_. I had to… I had to beg and let them feed me worms. I had to pretend I couldn’t see anything around me. I had to be _nothing_. Do _nothing_.” His voice fractured. “And then soon after, I was Hardeen! I… I wasn’t quite right. I made choices I don’t think I would have done normally. I found myself fixating on… certain thoughts. Of freedom. Of being someone else.”

Yoda nodded. If he’d noticed any of this already, he did not say.

“I’m not wanting to leave the Order and go be a bounty hunter or some _nonsense_. This is my path. I’ve chosen it for myself a hundred times now. I know I’m no servant or slave… I just… it’s all unsettled now. It’s like there’s something inside me. Someone else who wants to…” The rest dissolved into the air with a pained, shameful whisper. “Wants to go.”

Yoda nodded serenely. “Not the first Jedi you are either, to have such desires as a different life. But few get to _do_ so and still come back, as you have. Make things more concrete, it must. And after that which was inflicted on you, at the hands of the Zygerrians… perhaps waver, anyone’s resolve might. Mmm. Perhaps voted _against_ this undercover mission becoming your burden, I should have done.”

Obi-Wan puckered up his face and sucked down more tea. This was so embarrassing. So beneath where he should have been.

But Yoda showed no anger. No disappointment. “Changed, you have been. That is neither good, nor bad. It is only change. But your problem…” Yoda shook his head. “That which troubles you, attempting to forget it, you are.”

“ _Shouldn_ _’t_ I put it behind me?”

“No. For if you keep going back to it, a lesson there is—which learned, you have not.” Nose wrinkling, Obi-Wan decided he wasn’t fond of the coming recommendation, no matter how wise he knew his former teacher to be. “Confront these feelings, you must.”

“…I sensed you might say that.”

“Then know it already, you do!” The cane came up, tapped him fondly on the temple. “Confront it. Learn from it, you will, what the Force wants you to understand. And when you have, know what to do, you will. Remember who you _are_ , you will.” He chuckled. “Or distracted always, looking at the stars, you will stay.”

They fell silent for a long while, drinking tea, Obi-Wan spinning internally like the galaxy on its axis. “Even with this war going on…?”

“You are on leave, young Kenobi. The Force acts as it will, and now, time to follow it you have. Your troops, in good hands they are.” Yoda sighed. “But more, there is.”

“Oh?”

“News I have.”

“…Oh.” Obi-Wan squeezed his teacup. He suspected what this was about—knew because he’d jittered all night, suddenly once more dreaming of being trapped in a dark box, aching and waiting to burst free. “Is there an issue with Bane’s imprisonment?” He suddenly realized he hadn’t been waiting for an _if_ , but a _when_.

“In custody, he remains.” Yoda tilted his head, squinting, as if he could sense his former student’s considerations. “Sense something, you do?”

“Not… as such.”

“Hm.” Yoda mused on that. “Motion for his relocation, there has been. Perhaps some do not like him remaining where the security and defenses, he mostly knows.”

Oh. Yes. Naturally. “Well, he’s only led _two_ jailbreaks right on out of there. That I know of. The third time trying to make him stay put _must_ be the charm.”

That got a chuckle. “Remains, your humor does. Good. But… trial he will stand, next week. Not for months it was, but with this relocation motion…”

“…I see.” Obi-Wan had tried not to consider it previously. He’d known the legal system had been terribly backlogged, as it always was, but… next week? That was…

“Asked, I have been, to notify you of the need for your testimony. For this purpose, the recordings of your mission debriefings, the judge will receive.”

Obi-Wan forgot how to swallow properly. He felt a subtle shake in his hands return. “…Do you know where he’ll be relocated, after?”

“The new facility on Selonia, perhaps.”

Still in the Core, then. Not very far at all. Obi-Wan didn’t know how that made him feel. But Selonia _was_ an ideal place to keep the slipperiest of criminals; navigating off-world after an escape would be far more difficult than from here. Most of the ships on Selonia didn’t even have hyperdrives—no wonder the place had been built there, while many other capable installations remained under Separatist control.

So. On a lonely island on the sea, Cad Bane’s story could end. In chains.

Something inside Obi-Wan winced at the thought. “It’s a cruel fate, for one such as him.”

“Cruel as he has been in life.” Yoda considered. “The Jedi seek not to cause suffering. Never. But do our best, we must. Protect others, we _must_.” The fact that he felt he even needed to say that aloud… it made this supposed master ashamed. “It is also possible that a death sentence, he will be given.”

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. Truth to tell, such sentences were exceedingly rare, reserved most often for sedition and treason—but the attempted kidnapping of the Republic leader at the behest of a rogue government… on top of everything else Bane had done… well… _that probably qualified_. “I… have a lot to think about, I suppose.”

“Closed trial, it is. For necessary safety precautions.”

“…I see.” So they would take his recorded testimony, but he would be unable to witness the proceedings.

Why did he want to? Why wasn’t the closure of the man’s arrest enough?

Yoda regarded him. “Hrm. Pass to you, I could, an observation seat. To serve as my representative for the Order in these matters—if help you, you think it would.”

Obi-Wan set down his empty cup. He had no idea how to respond.

“Consider it. Thanks to you, it is, that this plot was discovered. That stopped, it was.” Yoda smiled beatifically, giving his elbow a sympathetic pat. “Saved the leader of the Republic you did, and lose sight of your worth, you should not.”

In spite of everything, Obi-Wan smiled back, even though he was so dizzy, he didn’t know how to say yes or no. The Grand Master gifted him a dilemma here… but he’d also reminded him of the path forward. Given him a lantern so he might walk it.

He left that study with a cold, sinking stone in his stomach, thinking of seeing Bane again, of a trial, of those fangs and eyes and that hate.

But regardless, he felt hopeful. His steps were lighter.

He would find his way.

* * *

The day of the trial came far too soon for Obi-Wan’s liking.

Despite his internal conflict, he knew he would attend.

His stomach was full of stampeding kybucks regardless as he donned his white dress robes, freshly cleaned and pressed. Fear was expected. Still, he’d trained all his life to be stronger. He ignored it, carrying his head high.

The seat for the Chancellor was at the head of the courtroom, though the Chancellor himself was not in it. Instead, there stood Amedda, the blue Chagrian who served as the man’s second. The limited audience was fully present and seated, peering—curious, he supposed, about how such an event would unfold. After all, there was a legion of troopers in the wings. Five were on the observer balcony alone. It was the most security Obi-Wan had seen for a governmental proceeding outside of an active battlefield, and everyone present in this high-profile courtroom was piercingly quiet. Bane’s reputation as an escape artist, it seemed, was well accounted for.

Crossing his arms, Obi-Wan looked to his peers. He was the only Jedi in this audience today, the majority in attendance appearing to be government officials. More than one senator was present. That was cause for a thoughtful frown. Yes. As he suspected, many of the faces here had been those who’d had a run-in with Bane in the past, or represented someone who had. Some might have submitted testimony of their own.

Senator Bail Organa was two seats to the right of him. A friendly face. They nodded to each other, solemn.

“Let the prisoner enter,” the overseer finally announced.

The doors opened, and there the guest of honor came to stand on his platform underneath: prison uniform stating his number loudly for all to see, flanked by no less than six clone guards. Obi-Wan’s heart suddenly stumbled into a rapid stacatto. He’d dreaded those blood-red eyes looking up. That rage and disgust. Bane might very well put on the record a jeering account of _everything_ they’d done on their mission, all the details left out of the debriefings. All the teeth and tongue and joyful thrusts.

All of which, Obi-Wan knew, he could deny, and no one would question him. Ultimately, his reputation was unassailable, but that didn’t mean he wanted Bane dragging out all the torrid ugliness anyway, even if no one would ultimately believe it.

Yet, this prisoner seemed to be pretending his audience just wasn’t there. His stride was deliberate and calm.

He… had no representative. Where on earth was his defense…?

 _Ah_. Bane was being arrogant as always, wasn’t he? He probably didn’t _have_ anyone to present his case. That actually took doing; the law required someone to take up his cause unless he’d explicitly asked them not to.

“Let this trial begin,” Amedda’s voice rang at the fore. “I, Mas Amedda, will be standing in for the Chancellor, whose status as a victim of the accused’s conspiracy charges have led him to recuse himself from these proceedings.”

Bane’s harsh, accented grumble rang loud under those soaring ceilings. “Good, gettin’ the minion to run this show will make it a lot more fair. _T’anks_.”

Voices began to rumble, and the new overseer got to begin his illustrious position by frantically calling the room to peace, slamming his staff to the ground. Great. The first words Bane had bothered with were an insult. How very like him. “The prisoner will come to order!” Amedda demanded. “State your name!”

“Cad Bane. What, ye worried ye came to the wrong room?”

Obi-Wan pinched his brow, feeling a headache forming.

“Your _legal name_ ,” Amedda bit off.

A shrug.

The clearly taxed overseer sighed. “The court requires your birth assignation, or your lack of cooperation will be noted— _again_ , as it was in the lesser courts for your previous offenses—and your sentencing, if convicted, will be adjusted accordingly.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Couldn’t they have gotten that information from his chain code…?

“Ye’ve got the only name yer gonna keep gettin’.” Bane shrugged. “Get on with yer little show.”

Strange. Still, the prosecution was muttering amongst themselves. If the chain code wasn’t viable for whatever reason… well, charges of treason might only be able to be brought against someone who was, without a doubt, a citizen of a Republic world. If biometrics hadn’t pinned down origins for Bane… anyone could argue he’d come from Wild Space, for all they knew. No one could accuse him of treason against his own government, and thus issue the according sentence.

It wouldn’t let him slip the noose, but it certainly cut off the prosecution’s first road.

…Unless he was just being a standard bastard instead of a shrewd one. A 50/50 chance.

Amedda sneered, seeming to realize the bait wasn’t being taken, and they would need to move on. “The new charges will now be read since the defendant’s previous incarceration. And there are many!” He waved an impatient hand. “Escape from confinement. Aiding and abetting known terrorists. Murder. _Attempted_ murder. Assault. Battery. Conspiracy. Theft. Inciting violence. Wanton destruction of property. Attempted kidnapping—”

It actually went on for some time. Everyone here seemed either suitably impressed or horrified at how much top-shelf lawlessness could be accomplished in just a few days. Bane was standing tall like he was getting an award.

“How does the defendant plea?”

“Ye know,” the man answered. “Imagine what would have happened if ye all woulda offered me a job instead of the Separatists. Ye might be a doin’ a lot better in this war, wouldn’t ye?”

“ _What is your plea?_ ”

Bane shrugged. “Can ye start over? I wasn’t payin’ full attention.”

The overseer slammed down his staff. “Let the record show contempt of court will be added to the list of charges!”

The place erupted into a frenzy of chatter, and Obi-Wan internally winced. How could Bane possibly think this mockery would end well? The prosecution would take this and use it to drive him into the ground, not that they’d needed much help. It was all so pointless, and—

And the world exploded.

He flew from his seat. A blistering shockwave of heat and pressure punched into him. Something _roared_ , battered his brain. Stone ripped and crumbled all around, giving way—his head hit the floor, splitting with agony.

Screaming rang. Chimes sounded in his skull.

Blood. It dripped down his forehead, stinging his blurred eyes.

All he knew was this: _bomb_. The world was smeared and tilted and wrong. Smoke. _Smoke_. He hacked. His robes were on _fire_. Frantically, he startled to roll. The… the entire _room_ was on fire. The observer balcony, and the judge’s, and…!

Obi-Wan clawed for his lightsaber on pure instinct. His palm slid off his empty waist, triggering the realization that his weapon was missing. The blast must have knocked it loose…!

A cocky lilt hissed in his memory: _“Were ye smart enough to arrange contingencies then, if t’ings go bad?”_

The realization came too late.

Smoke filled Obi-Wan’s eyes and lungs with burning pain. He still didn’t see his weapon, and in the chaos, was slow to sense it through the Force. Mas Amedda was getting hauled to safety by guards flashing guns. People screamed and rushed towards the exits.

The senators—some had fled, and some were stunned, groaning on the floor. They needed to be taken to safety!

A prone guard was to his right. Knocked out?

Breathing? …No, not breathing.

Where was his lightsaber?! Concussed, he swayed, trying to get to his feet.

Stun blaster fire suddenly rang out too. A blue arc of light scorched over his head, a discharge from one of the courtroom guards to his left, pinging into the wall of smoke around them. Who was…?

Someone then slammed into him, knocking him down. His hands were wrenched behind his back. He fought as he was bound, bringing up his legs, springing up and slamming the attacker backwards into the wall. Whoever it was hit with a bone-crack, letting him go, sliding away. Obi-Wan spun.

It was one of the _guards_.

 _What in the_ _…?_

He coughed and fought against his new cuffs, but they were metal, slicing into his wrists.

He had to protect the senators!

Another guard ran through the smoke. Obi-Wan pedaled back and assumed a defensive stance. “Sir!” the guard said. “Let me help!”

Wait. Nothing seemed wrong about this man, not his tone, not the feeling around him in the Force—

And the guard was suddenly skewered in the temple by a high-powered, set-to-kill blaster. He collapsed, reeking of melting helmet metal and burning flesh. The shot had come from the judge’s balcony, swarming with others in uniform too, helping Amedda to safety… _Who had_ _…?!_

Obi-Wan rolled behind the chairs for cover as a dozen more shots sizzled into the wall behind him, fired by more guards across the way. Chaos. Obi-Wan couldn’t immediately find his allies, tell them apart aside from their frantic whipping around in confusion, as they aimed their guns at friends and foes and _hesitated_.

They had no idea who was who either. How many imposters were—

Wait, where was Bane?! The defense platform, it was _empty_ —

Collecting himself, Obi-Wan tried to focus. Tried. His vision blurred dangerously. _Severely_ concussed. He steadied, concentrated on breaking these cuffs, and…

…And as he swayed halfway up onto his knees, another impersonator in guard-armor charged him, slamming him shoulder-first back down into the floor.

A stun baton!

Obi-Wan tipped with vertigo as he tried throwing his attacker. The baton slammed into his lower back, a boot forcing him back down. Pain radiated up his spine like a second bomb blast. He hoarsely cried out.

Another debilitating shock sliced into his spine. He was slipping, though he kept fighting to get up, trying to throw off the man grinding him stomach-first into the tile.

A third lightning strike, then a fourth and fifth slammed into his neck, his kidneys, his back.

For a time, Obi-Wan fought with every last shred of his disappearing strength.

Then, he succumbed to agony, and finally, unconsciousness.


	3. The Invisible Chain, II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: brief torture, slave collar.

“ _Wake up._ ”

That hiss flooded Obi-Wan’s subconscious like a river. Electric, burning pain followed in its wake.

He woke screaming, gasping for air… then sagging with a whimper as the torture finally ceased. Smoke and ash coated his nose and throat still, stinging and choking. Something inside his body was dizzy, numb, as if he’d been drugged and left to dehydrate for days. His lips were bleeding-dry.

His arms ached above his head, his wrists collared into a suspended interrogation system.

The favorite Separatist holding device for Jedi.

Panting, his lip curled. This room was small. Dark. Dank.

And before him was Bane. Of course he was.

The man was seated comfortably next to a little console wired to the restraints, making it clear he controlled the flow of pain in this new nightmare. Black mechanic’s grease stained his bare fingertips. His ugly numbered uniform was gone—indeed, he was decked out in a new brown leather duster and hat, neither as nice or well-fitted as the ones from the past. Prison apparently kept eating up his favorite belongings. Good.

“Oh. Almost didn’t see you there,” Obi-Wan croaked. “Your hat’s very small.”

It wasn’t, but Bane stood, fists coiling, shaking with rage.

 _How did I get here_ _…?_ Obi-Wan couldn’t remember. The courtroom… yes, he remembered that, but… but it had been on Coruscant, had been secure as anything… _bombed_. Yes, it had been bombed, and the guards…

How would Bane have possibly pulled something like that off?! He was slippery, yes, but this was impossible! Even the man’s last jailbreak, significantly simpler, had gone wrong. And Bane had no contact with the outside world! How could he have coordinated…?

The hunter’s face schooled into exactly the same look he’d had when he’d been marched into his trial: utterly blank. The only difference between it and the one he’d kept for their sabacc games was how worn thin he was around his eyes.

He probably still held all the best cards.

Obi-Wan just breathed at him, wondering where they were. What day it was. There were no windows. No signs.

And clearly, Bane’s humor had been long spent, if he’d ever had any in the first place. “Ye know,” he intoned, lip curling. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a Jedi in one of these t’ings. But I’m still a little fuzzy on what yer limits are. _Don_ _’t make me test them_.”

Obi-Wan wheezed. He remembered well when the body of Master Ropol had been reported as found. Struggling, he slowed his breathing, tried not to dwell on how much more pain this was likely going to involve. “How did you get me here…?

“I told ye,” Bane finally said, voice low and dangerous. “That if things went south… I had my plans.”

Really?! Coordinating what he had wasn’t a _contingency_ ; it was madness. Obi-Wan’s face must have said just that.

“I don’t have to tell ye nothin’.” Bane sneered, and one could know what was coming the second those lips curled back in disgust and those teeth glinted in the harsh fluorescence. Agony ran Obi-Wan through again in a lightning wave. His muscles spasmed and locked; his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

But this time, he’d been ready. This time, he retreated to a place further back in his head, a safer, deeper place.

He didn’t return until he registered only Bane’s harsh, unsteady breathing and silence. The current had stopped. His muscles twitched. And his captor was staring at him, fire in his eyes, fingers over the console. “Tell me what ye did to me,” Bane demanded.

At first, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Everything was still cloudy, unreal. “What?” he slurred.

Bane curled his hands into fists and roared. “I said: _what did ye do to me?!_ What did ye put in my head?!”

“I… what? What are you _talking_ about?”

The pain lanced him through again, over and over, and he didn’t know how long it lasted. He only knew it eventually stopped.

“Yer lyin’!” Bane leveled a finger in accusation, words fraught with fracture-lines. Spittle flew. Something was desperately wrong with him, far more so than usual. He’d never looked so… _out of control_. Cracked. “Yer Jedi mind tricks! Ye’ve put me through that before! Or did ye t'ink I _forgot_ that’s a stunt ye can do?”

Obi-Wan winced. Yes, he, Windu, and Anakin _had_ rammed the Force through Bane’s mental walls once. A child’s life was on the line, so he couldn’t say he regretted it, even if lesser beings had buckled quite permanently from such powerful tampering before. “I’m… I’m not influencing your mind,” he rasped, almost delicate, like this heartless bounty hunter was an unpredictable and wounded animal. “I haven’t done anything to your head.”

Those fingers hovered closer to the console. “Then why?!”

“You don’t… don’t need to press that… I am truly trying to answer… I just… why _what?_ ”

Bane rose, a snapping tension spring. He stalked close, slinking until his breath blew hot in Obi-Wan’s face, stinking of cigarettes. Then he grabbed his chin, forced it up so their eyes would meet. It was an echo of at least one poor decision that wouldn’t be forgotten. “Why?”

“Why what?!” Where was that question even supposed to start?

Bane suddenly trembled, cocked back, and punched him hard in the solar plexus. Obi-Wan’s breath fled in strangled gasps, like he was a fish on land. He coughed, struggling, and then managed to breathe again, head down, watching Bane for a second strike, for a full beating.

It never came. The man just wheezed with fury and glared. “ _Why?!_ Why _any_ of this, Kenobi?! Why ye got in close? Got me to trust ye just so ye could…! ” He choked on a word, fists trembling with rage. “ _Why ye made a fool out of me when ye—!_ ” Then he just lost it and finally landed a second blow, a stinging, hard-knuckled sock across Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Why am I having these dreams?! Why do I keep t’inkin’…” He trailed off, teeth ferociously bared.

 _Dreams? What_ _…?!_

But Bane drew a blaster then, hissing, spitting, leveling it between his prisoner’s eyes. “Ye know what? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I don’t actually care why anymore. _Maybe yer just a karkin_ _’ liar, Hardeen, and ye always were_.”

The gun was an LL-30, an unmodded backup. Every time he resupplied, it seemed he was forced to settle for shabbier iterations of his weapons too. Ones unmarked by his dedication and care.

And staring down that desperation and hatred and rage, Obi-Wan had no idea what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, looking down that cold barrel and letting go of his shame—for being fallible, for being human. He let go of his fear, because he might die, and life-or-death clarity settled on his shoulders then like a jolt to his heart. He’d been through so, so much… and it _was_ almost easy to let go for a moment, to float, as if it didn’t matter. “But I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t do anything to you. Other than… well, accompany on you a mission to do the job I was asked to do… and let my persona get a little… out of hand.”

The killing shot didn’t come.

Bane breathed hard, sneering and snarling, but he didn’t fire.

There was nothing more to do than to keep talking. The demand was quite clear. “I was given a job by the Council, and I did it. And it wasn’t personal until it was. When I saved you, I…” He hesitated, trying to word it as diplomatically as possible. “Look. You know I needed your trust, or at least your tolerance, to get to Eval’s plans regarding the Chancellor. I… didn’t expect for you to save me too. I didn’t mean to…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yer sorry fer _what?_ ” The words were flat like a frozen lake ready to rupture underfoot.

“Because that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Why you’re so angry. I don’t know what’s happening in your head, but you… trusted me, after a great deal of effort not to, and we did things, vulnerable things, that were _not_ just business.”

Bane’s jaw began to hang just a little, as if in disbelief. But he seemed startled enough that his immediate need to kill apparently short-circuited. “What?” And then, he actually laughed—a cold wheeze. “Ye… ye t’ink I’m out to kill ye because… because what, ye were… ye were such a _good lay_ ye broke _my poor little black heart_ when ye stabbed me in the back?!” He laughed harder. The sound was the sort that made a spine crawl out of its body.

Obi-Wan clicked his teeth, paranoid, hoping the pissed snickering was better than the raging torture. “So… you’re saying I’m _not_ that good of a lay?” Force help him and his sarcasm habit.

Bane’s laughter cut short. He came close again, his breath seething, eyes slits. “Ye really have no idea what I’m talkin’ about, do ye?”

“I swear I don’t.”

“Ye sure?” Bane leaned in close, hissing still. “Ye know, I cut Eval’s throat in that prison fer tryin’ to make me look stupid. Don't much care fer that.”

“…Ah.” Well. That answered the mystery of the solitary confinement. “Was it for, ah…”

“Yeah, it was fer him spreadin’ ‘round I was fuckin’ the Jedi that got us caught.”

“I… see. Well… he didn’t really seem that bright in some ways.”

“Wasn’t. Are ye as stupid as him, tryin’ to be funny?”

Obi-Wan stared into those pitiless crimson eyes. He licked his dry, chapped lips. “I’m telling the truth.” Bane stared. “And for what it’s worth, our… indiscretion… I’ve told _no one_. I’ve just quietly been having a crisis about it. So you’ve got that going for you.”

His captor simply blinked at him, giving away nothing. Then, with an abrupt gravity, his hands fell to his side. “I can’t believe ye want me to believe…” His gun went into his holster. His teeth bared. “Kenobi… yer a huge karkin’ embarrassment of a man.”

“…Perhaps.”

“Can’t even kick the shit outta ye right now. Yer so _pathetic_.”

“…Fine.”

A disbelieving _tsk_ fell from Bane’s face. “ _Just_ _…_ _shut up!_ ” And with that, he spun on his heel and left.

All Obi-Wan could do was hang there, ache, and breathe. He spat out blood, sagging.

He knew he couldn’t count on this extremely mercurial shift. Bane didn’t traffic in mercy, and wouldn’t begin for someone who’d wronged him, no matter how startled he became—especially since it was clear that whatever information he was seeking… Obi-Wan simply had no idea what he was talking about.

_I'm_ _not useful._

_I need to get out._

But his binds were ironclad. If there was one thing this bounty hunter knew, it was how to manage Jedi: he’d been meticulous in this cleaned room, not providing any possibilities of weapons or tools. This device was locked down.

The truth was, there wasn’t anything Obi-Wan could do.

So he hung there and tried to meditate. Tried not to feel his arms starting to throb in agony from the suspension, tried not to wonder how many Bane might have killed on his way out of Coruscant. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for that, even if it wasn’t direct. And something was just… very different about this man right now. Something seething close to the surface… something broken.

…Wasn’t that oh-so-familiar?

Their paths kept colliding, over and over, and every time they seemed to come out worse for wear. To be connected like this in some awful, cosmic way…

_“Mysterious are the ways of the Force.”_

His gut roiled, thinking of his old Master’s voice.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before Bane returned. It was long enough that Obi-Wan couldn’t feel his arms at all, and his stomach ached deeply. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. But the door to this chamber softly slid open again, and towards him, the man silently stepped… purposeful. Controlled now.

“I’m gonna explain somethin’ to ye,” Bane snapped. “And then yer gonna get food and water. And maybe ye’ll get to live for a bit. Got it?”

Hurting, Obi-Wan looked to him, incredulous… but also so, so thirsty.

Bane paced up, hands behind him. He went around the interrogation device, to his captive’s back—Obi-Wan’s neck hairs stood up, as he hung unable to defend himself, unable to turn around and see what was happening.

A cold metallic touch slipped around his neck.

 _Click_.

At first he thought Bane had decided strangulation would be the most efficient way to kill him. But then… no. It was merely a binding of some kind. It was almost too tight, immediately chafing his swollen throat.

Something inside it activated and hummed into his larynx.

Understanding dawned, and with it, a sudden, deep-rooted, despairing panic that he barely kept in check.

_No. No! Not this again!_

That threatening hiss began over his shoulder again. “This is a slaver collar… for particularly nasty slaves. Ye understand?”

Obi-Wan trembled. He couldn’t help it. How dare Bane do this to him. How dare he…!

“I’m goin’ to let you down. But if you try to attack me? Try to mess with that device? Get too far away? It’ll explode—immediately—and take yer head with it. In fact, if I don’t personally give it a signal _every_ hour, it’ll explode anyway. So it’s a real good idea to keep me alive and happy, right Jedi?”

Obi-Wan breathed, feeling that metal weigh down his neck, winding his air almost too tight to pass. “…I see.” His voice was thin, distant, even in his own ringing ears.

Suddenly, the containment field deactivated, and he dropped unceremoniously to the ground like garbage. For a long moment, unable to properly feel or move his arms in order to get up, he just rolled over and laid there, tasting copper.

Bane let out a sigh of long-suffering and snagged him by the fabric at his chest, hoisting him to his feet. Though prison had clearly worn him, his strength seemed undiminished. “Follow me.” The man turned then and walked out the door.

 _He_ _’s so confident he’s got me, he’s turning his back_.

He wasn’t wrong though, was he?

This collar was…

Obi-Wan’s fingers probed the surface. No. Not like the Zygerrian ones. The construction was strange. And it was explosive? He knew he’d need a good look—this thing might need an _extremely_ precise blow in order to both disrupt the combustion and remove it in time.

It probably also had shock capabilities, if it had been a slaver invention.

He shuddered, feeling an echo of pain rattling down his internal rivers. Sorrow bubbled beneath.

So he stumbled after Bane compliantly, unwilling to feel that again. Not now, when he needed to focus.

Wherever they were was cramped and dim, running on minimum power: perhaps another hidden asteroid bunker. Bane certainly seemed to channel a lot of his high employment fees into safehouses. Likely credits well spent. But all that was here were empty ration storage bins, computers, supplies, and a dock. A pile of rumpled blankets in the far corner indicated there weren’t even sleeping berths.

Bane made a brusque gesture to the ship in the bay, to the secondary seat behind the first. “Get in.” It was a vehicle Obi-Wan had seen him use before, a green Rogue-class starfighter—seemingly scuffed and charred, but truly, a costly beauty of a craft. _Xanadu Blood_ , it read on the side.

So Bane had already ditched whatever stolen Republic vessel had gotten him this far. Of course he had. Would have been trackable.

Obi-Wan did as he was told for now and climbed in the back behind the pilot’s chair. The seat was fairly comfortable after his recent accommodations, he had to admit, even if it seemed a cramped, modded thing, as if this starfighter had not originally been designed for two.

Then a harness automatically snapped around him, over his torso and arms. It even came from beneath and clicked around his legs. And… now he couldn’t move. So. Bane had customized this to ferry marks around.

“Is it not enough you have this blasted collar on me? You have to tie me down too?!”

The hunter himself agilely sprung into the pilot’s seat and said nothing. He’d clearly already packed everything he’d needed from this place. The cockpit transparisteel descended, the ship warming with a purr.

“What are you going to do with me now?”

Bane just sighed, like he was clearly wishing he’d installed some way to prevent his cargo from speaking.

“You realize you could get a fairly large ransom for my return.”

Nothing. Bane finished adjusting the _Xanadu Blood_ ’s controls, prepping them for launch.

“Likely larger than what the Separatists will pay you. And I’m not worth that much to anyone else. Too much trouble to hold onto.”

Nothing. The ship rose from its landing pad, smooth and nimble, just like its pilot.

“I still haven’t had any food or water!” His dry, abused throat rasped the words out, but he made them _loud_. “ _And I need to use the refresher!_ ”

The engines fired and they moved back out into the infinite black and stars of space. Obi-Wan realized, even through his nervous haze, that he’d been right; they were in an asteroid field somewhere, no other planets or identifying features to use for bearings. Only the stars. He tried to make sense of them, but Bane gave him barely any time at all before they cleared the belt and leapt into hyperspace.

Only then, finally—finally—his captor spoke. “…If ye piss on that seat, I _will_ vent ye into space, and I don’t care what yer worth.”

Oh? “Just what are you trying to get here Bane? A Jedi slave? A demeaned servant? Why not just freeze me in carbonite? Or kill me outright? You can’t expect me to stop _functioning_ because it’s inconvenient to you!”

A wrenched, frustrated sigh. “There weren’t many supplies. Place had been raided since I’d been there last… and I’ve had _nothin_ _’_ either since we got off Coruscant.” His voice was rising, a guttural growl with it. “Ye’ll get yer rations where we land next! So get comfortable! Because I’m _not_ in a good mood!”

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth at this answer that was barely an answer at all, and slowly, slowly came down from his buzzing, shuddering peak. “So… it’s just like when we were traveling together last time then.”

“ _Shut up about last time!_ ” Bane assaulted some button on the console and a divider sprung up between them.

Panting, dehydrated, Obi-Wan raised his head weakly to the heavens: the blue-white shine of hyperspace. Familiar and comforting, strangely. It was said that to stare at it too long was to invite madness, and that didn’t feel so far right now. Unable to move, left to his own quiet sphere, he let that celestial light sink into his eyes.

 _Should have gone to some beach for leave after all_.

Exhausted, sore, he drifted off to sleep.

He only woke when something snapped painful against his face—a slap, though without real power. He almost jolted up before getting jostled right back into place by his tight and restrictive harness.

An unblinking crimson stare hovered near his own. “We’re here.”

Bleary, Obi-Wan quickly took stock as his harness disengaged and he was allowed to rise. Bane was already climbing down off the ship. This new place seemed to be some other spacer’s waypoint, but bigger, clearly not meant for one. No other ships were docked there currently, but Obi-Wan recognized the insignia on the wall of a prominent mining guild. Ah. A processing station.

Following Bane through the doors, the automatic lights flickered to life, and it became apparent this place hadn’t been active for a long time. A thin layer of dust covered the consoles. Items were littered haphazardly on the floor, old empty cans and bins. Garbage and grime.

Bane stormed past all of it and without ceremony seized the handle of what looked like a ration storage container in the wall. He yanked. It didn’t open. He hammered at the nearby controls with his fingers. They flickered red.

Locked.

The man didn’t even intelligibly swear. He slammed the controls with his entire fist, sending a massive dump of electricity into the system via his shock gloves—it overloaded the controls in the same way that an insect exploded when hit with a star cruiser.

The bin door simply dropped off. The wall panel sparked and smoked.

Bane dug into whatever was being kept in there like an outright animal, snarling, throwing a bag carelessly over his shoulder in Obi-Wan’s general direction. Jedi reflexes fired without thinking. He caught it. A container of water soon followed.

Protein squares the color of moss lay in the plastic wrapping: made out of vegetable sources and dried into a sort of faux-jerky, there was enough in this bag for quite a few meals—preserved for long storage. Or at least he hoped so. The stamp on this container was for five years back.

Bane fell cross-legged on the floor, tearing open another bag. A green cube passed his lips, falling victim to those fangs ripping and tearing. He made a sound of disgust and shuddered, but instantly stuffed two more in its place and began to chug water from the container to wash it down. Not exactly an endorsement, but Obi-Wan understood the sentiment. His stomach suddenly cramped and cried out. He just sat down where he was and tore open his bag as well. The cubes had been stale for so long, they tasted like dust, so tough they hurt his jaw... and yet, the protein and nutrients inside had survived... his body cried out for more.

A few minutes later, after enough laborious chewing, the haze of primal hunger finally subsided. A visceral headache had yet to clear, but Obi-Wan was sure it would with time. “Can I get another water?”

Bane grunted and rolled another canister over to him—still ruminating on a ration cube, eyes a little glazed.

“I take it this place isn’t yours.”

The man swallowed his inadequate meal. “Not yer business.”

“So you’re squatting?”

“There’s no one else comin’, if that’s what yer askin’.”

Obi-Wan considered. “You don’t have access to any credits right now, do you? Or we’d be eating real food.” Really, enlisting _whatever_ help Bane had for that courtroom job… it had to have been an exorbitant deposit.

Those hunter eyes quickly narrowed. Ah. So this was a sensitive topic. With that, the man got up and left, abandoning the remains of his lunch where they lay. Obi-Wan’s gaze followed him with interest, but Bane only stomped to the refresher, the door sliding shut behind him and locking.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan’s stomach tolerated one last veg-meat cube. Then, he stood and made ready to get a look around without his captor breathing down his neck.

The station wasn’t big. The terminals fired up, but they were locked, refusing him access without additional passcodes. Well. No wonder it had been acceptable, leaving him alone. He rolled his eyes and kept looking.

Clearly this place had been used to coordinate with other mining stations in this sector, some kind of central hub… but Obi-Wan couldn’t find any tools of the trade here, and most of the drawers were empty. It probably had been cleaned out by a corporate interest formally abandoning the place and not wanting to leave behind anything of value.

He sighed and tried a few more containers. One was sealed, which was interesting… he curled his hand around the handle firmly, then yanked with the Force behind him. It snapped free. Prizes within rattled.

…A couple data cards and a microtorch.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips in annoyance, but pocketed the torch… it was possible it might get hot enough to do… _something_ … to this collar.

The refresher door swished open again, and out returned Bane, giving a long, appraising stare, looking between a Jedi and the rifled bins.

“Ye know,” he growled. “I don’t care if ye found a blaster in there, though I doubt ye did. Yer not doin’ anything about the collar.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The man’s gaze glittered dangerously over his smirk. “Ye will. And when ye do, ye’ll be dead. Wouldn’t give a Jedi so much free rein if it was any other way. Now—go do yer business and get changed.” He tossed his head to the refresher and moved to the consoles.

Riled, defensive, Obi-Wan complied.

For now.

After he relieved himself—and indeed, it was a _deep_ relief—he found the outfit Bane apparently wanted him to consider. There were old gray work uniforms closeted in here: likely a lot less conspicuous compared to his robes of Jedi white. One of them was close to fitting—he put it on, feeling the dirt and threads scrape his back, making him sneeze. Then he paused at the grimy mirror… the old black mineral dust of this place already smeared his cheeks. His jaw was swollen where Bane had hit him.

The man before him looked so, so tired.

But there was his objective: the slaver collar. Wincing, he craned his neck, exposing it as much as he could.

Blast. This… was no trinket breakable with enough Force behind it. It seemed to be reinforced durasteel of all things, a green light blinkering in the front, and no little microtorch was going to stand a chance of getting through. Gently, he moved the thing up, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated beneath. Too tight still. It had been around a smaller throat at some point—for it seemed as if there once was cushioning for long-term use, but few scabs of it remained. This was why it was starting to make him sweat and chafe. Likely in a few days, it would make him bleed.

Not that Bane probably cared.

Also along the collar were several bulges, little pods, certainly the chained explosives, and that made it even more complicated. If one trigger was prevented from tripping, the rest might detonate as a security feature… unless they were somehow all stopped at once. A larger bulge was in the back, probably where the control chip was housed. But he couldn’t spin it to see. Whenever he shifted the device too far one way or another, the green light in front changed to a threatening orange, which hardly seemed a good sign.

Well. What an effective trinket of barbarism.

Obi-Wan sighed, hands curling into fists, wondering how he’d managed to be enslaved so soon after breaking free.

Then without warning, the green light in front turned to orange again.

“Bane,” he demanded, exiting the refresher. “This collar. What—”

The man looked up from the computer, smirking in his unsettling way, a _tch_ hissing between his teeth. Slowly, he raised his gauntlet, tapping a few buttons. “Accessing collar D-36. Run voice identification.” The collar hummed, made a beep of compliance. “Delay detonation.” The collar beeped again. Bane lowered his wrist, lips parting like a deranged and unhappy beast’s. “Every hour, Kenobi. Make sure to remind me.”

A seething helplessness welled up. Yes. Fine. This leash was tight, even if the cage had no bars. He got it.

Bane finished whatever it was he was doing on the terminal—it seemed to have been sending messages. Obi-Wan simply sat himself down in a corner and waited.

And waited.

And eventually, back getting sore on that metal flooring, he slipped into meditation, realizing they would not be moving for some time.

Meditation was more than just a re-centering, though he took the time to make it that—it was also an opportunity to expand outwards, to try and quiet his inner turmoil so the tides of the Force could ebb and flow through. Like everything in the universe, he was a conduit. And sometimes… sometimes images would drift downstream.

Perhaps something he could sense would help.

Things came to his mental eye now, difficult to interpret. Flashes. Feelings. The strongest of moments resonated through the universe’s very self, untethered from concerns such as time and place— he saw figures in the dark, cloaked, shuffling through a miserable, flooding rain. He saw a barren waste… and danger, something in out in desert hills, full of hatred and bloodlust.

…He saw Bane’s starfighter adrift, charred and broken, in the vast nothingness of space. In the cockpit… there was… someone… a body…

“Delay detonation.” Bane’s voice snapped over his head, and his collar beeped.

Sighing, Obi-Wan lifted his gaze. A whole hour, come and gone. “You know, there must be far more civil methods for keeping me in line. The Zygerrians tried doing this to me, too. It didn’t end well.”

The man gave him an inscrutable, narrowed stare, then began stalking away. “I’m not takin’ chances.” 

“I mean, what are you going to do when you need to sleep? Wake up every hour or let me _blow up?_ ”

“We’ll get there when we get there.” There was some increased vigor in his gait and coiling form, a growing storm before the console. “Now shut up. It will go _a lot_ worse for ye if ye interrupt the call coming through.” His nimble fingers tapped a few buttons, patching through a transmission. Obi-Wan watched with quiet interest.

And the form of Count Dooku materialized in glowing holo-blue. Ah. So _that_ was why it’d go worse if the call was interrupted.

“Bane,” the man spoke as if feigning surprise, his baritone echoing loud and disdainful in the abandoned space. His rich, dark robes billowed softly around his form, piercing eyes unblinking over his snow-white beard.

Obi-Wan’s captor didn’t seem all that impressed by the display. Perhaps he was just used to this level of intimidation from his clients. “Count.”

“I see the rumors of your escape were true. I quite thought you were about to be executed this time.”

“The Republic’s never been able to hold onto me.” Bane crossed his arms. He would have seemed incredibly casual if Obi-Wan hadn’t witnessed him being an exploding cauldron for the past few hours.

“I should hope this isn’t a call seeking collection for a… _failed_ job.”

Bane’s back stiffened. “Of course not. No delivery of target, no payment. That’d be… unprofessional.” His left fang slipped over his lip in a sneer.

 _Didn_ _’t he once say the Separatists were offering a million credits each for Jedi?_ Obi-Wan stood, squaring himself. Perhaps that was why he was still alive. He might just be about to become a gilded offering, and he didn’t much care for that.

But then, Dooku’s voice shifted down a note, something threatening starting to scrape its depths. “It would be, of course, a strange thing indeed to contact me so soon after your flagrant _failure_ , seeking new work to be _trusted_ with.”

Bane growled deep in his throat. It might not have been loud enough to carry through the transmission, but Obi-Wan heard it loud and clear. “I’m the best hunter in any star system. You know there’s t’ings I can do fer you no one else can. Both you _and_ yer benefactor do. So let’s not start this out by sayin’ I don’t have the track record. It’s not on me that yer Naboo job failed.”

Eyes widening, Obi-Wan let that spin in his brain for a moment. Benefactor…? Dooku was… no, surely, there wasn’t someone behind… this _had_ to mean something different. There were always only two Sith. Master and apprentice—the count and Ventress—had both been accounted for.

Bane continued: “I’m just callin’ to square accounts so we can continue to do business.” Those words fell like brusque knives. He had to be given credit for one thing: he was probably one of the few people in the galaxy who would dare to speak to Dooku in this way. “I was noticin’ yer payment hasn’t turned up yet fer the contract I successfully completed before yer Chancellor plans—on which, to be clear, my execution was _perfect._ Now, there’s always tomorrow to try again. And I don’t mind doin’ some of _that_. But. Seein’ as I’m still alive, yer money’s past due. I’m sure it just got… lost by one of yer underlings, of course. Yer a busy man. Also, ye still have a few of my—”

Dooku seemed to loom larger. “I see. Yes.” His interruption dripped with condescension. “However, I think you lack a certain appreciation of your position.”

“I know yer not considerin’ breaking _contract_ , Count.” Bane’s voice turned into a guttural hiss. “Somethin’ like _that_ _…_ it’d get out. The Separatists would have a hard time gettin’ good help.”

Oh ho. Dooku’s teeth were grinding under that beard of his. It was nice to know Bane irritated everybody in this galaxy utterly equally. And he was, of course, right. The Separatists had long relied on steady bounty hunter work. But when Dooku finally responded, it was clear such realities would not get in the way of anger. “We have, haven’t we? _But circumstances change all the time in war_.”

Bane was still, like a predator lying in wait.

“And why don’t you consider this?” Dooku rumbled. “You _are_ the reason the Chancellor’s kidnapping was all for nothing.”

“No! When we were supposed to meet ye at—”

“Silence! It was _you_ who brought this so-called _Rako Hardeen_ to the mission. _His_ treachery is _your_ incompetence!” Dooku’s voice was rising to a shout. “Of course I didn’t come to the rendezvous! We all would have been captured! And I’ve had time to consider that the man I put in charge was tricked by a Jedi in a third-rate disguise _…_ how could you possibly not have noticed?”

Bane just stood silent for a long moment, as if all the abuse might sink into the void of his soul and be consumed without a single scar for its passing.

And when his calm hiss froze the room, the air shattered in its wake.

“So ye found out it was all goin’ to go wrong, enough to skip the rendezvous… and ye didn’t notify a single one of us. _Interestin_ _’_.”

Obi-Wan almost flinched. The transmission hung in a cloud of crackling outrage for a long moment, Dooku’s nostrils flaring. It was quite possible that if Bane had been there in person, he might have been staring down a lightsaber. “You know, when I began to realize my doubts were well founded…” Dooku rumbled. “Some things occurred to me. Perhaps what I’m hearing about your potential execution has been a smokescreen, and you collaborated with the Republic to bring Kenobi into your fold. Perhaps they offered you _quite_ a sum to turn your loyalties.”

That accusation landed exactly as well as he expected it would. Bane was vibrating. “I have _never_ broken contract.”

“Or perhaps you were simply foolish, and the price owed from your previous success needs to be re-routed into covering the damages I have suffered from your failures. Either way, do not contact me again. If I am in such _desperate_ need of services that I should call on you, you will know it.”

The transmission went dead. Count Dooku was gone.

And one could sense the swelling of fury long before it broke. Bane’s mouth twisted in bloodthirsty rage. He shot out three monitors and five innocent storage units before his gun ran out of charges. Then he simply clicked the trigger into empty space.

However, strangely, this was heartening, for he likely would not call the Separatists back to mention a captured Jedi—to one such as him, it might seem like groveling.

Bane holstered his blaster and turned, quietly, slowly.

Obi-Wan smacked his lips. “You know, you were never going to get paid. I can confirm that Dooku knew it was me _well_ before the plan went off. I found a listening device planted in my sniper case after it was all over. He’d heard me talking to the Order hours before the fact—yes, he _could_ have contacted you at any time to tell you it had all gone wrong, saving you from prison.”

The look he received in return was almost indescribable. A widening of the eyes. An unsheathing of those fangs.

“Dooku betrays all his comrades in one way or another eventually. It was only a matter of time.”

That dangerous red glare could have cut carbonite. But no weapon was drawn again. No threat was leveled. Bane merely snarled—then speaking low, in the same tone that one used to wish death, he advised: “Get rest. Yer goin’ to karkin’ need it.” And he spun on one heel, abandoning his prisoner to this dark and cold room once more.

Obi-Wan pondered the silence. Pondered the rage drowning this bunker.

He wasn't dead, but he wasn’t sure if this was Bane’s way of saying that he'd soon wish he would be.


	4. The Desert Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, to those who celebrate. :-) My gift is all the wonderful comments and kudos you've shared with me so far. Thank you!

A difficult night stumbled past. Obi-Wan awoke on _many_ occasions. It didn’t help his bed was… absolutely nothing, just a hard floor with some Jedi robes and exhaustion for a pillow. Sometimes Bane was pacing. Sometimes he’d be hissing into his gauntlet, extending the life of his captive by another hour. And sometimes, it seemed, he was digging into other transmissions, other opportunities.

Obi-Wan caught bits of these muttered comms, snatches of dialogue.

“Ah… sorry, Bane, people have been saying… look, you’re a bit dangerous to touch right now, mate…”

“No work here! No call! No call!”

“It true you betrayed client? For _Republic?!_ ”

Clearly, someone had set some rumors loose.

Often, Obi-Wan would simply pretend to be asleep after these calls, almost certain Bane was finally going to snap and try to kill him—either out of personal spite for the Jedi that had clearly destroyed his life, or because said Jedi was simply going to be too much trouble to hang onto. But Bane never did. Didn’t even wake him to take out some of that anger with his fists.

It was _suspicious_.

Regardless, Obi-Wan wasn’t even a little shocked when he snapped awake to find the man crouching in front of him and holding a knife. He sprung back, kipping up and coming into a defensive stance. His adrenaline roared into his ears.

“ _Tch_.” Bane stood. Then he flipped the knife over, proffering it, handle first. “It’s time to go. Shave the hair off your head while I grab the rest of the… food… here.” The word fell off his tongue like it was a wholly inappropriate way to describe what those rations were, and Obi-Wan was inclined to agree. But he took the knife anyway.

“Shave my… my head.”

“Did I stutter? Yes. _All_ of it.” He waved a circular hand around his entire face. “Then get to the ship.”

Obi-Wan stared, taking stock of his captor. Bane was inflamed around his eyes, like he hadn’t slept once. Possibly overpowerable. His reaction times were likely decimated.

But that wouldn’t get this collar off. And Bane couldn’t be forced to do anything about that—likely not even under a death threat, just because he was _that kriffing spiteful._

Ruefully, Obi-Wan complied with his orders once more.

_For now._

But oh, was it hard. He knew his face was going to be issued to every last Republic scanner, and being easily recognizable was his best chance for a rescue. If some scanners got a longer look at him, they might still have a chance of matching his bone structure and notifying the Council, but it would take more time, giving Bane more chances to slip through.

Also, despite him avoiding such things as… well, _vanity_ …

…The beard had always made him feel far more distinguished.

And it took a while to grow, kriff it! It had _just started_ coming back in properly!

He did not have a good time. The knife was sharp and well maintained, but there weren’t any helpful creams or tonics to smoothen the process. By the time he was done, his skin rather felt like it had run into a swarm of stingflies in a dark alley. And he looked… _stupid_. Bald and bare, youthful, and…

…And just a smidgen like shaved-head Hardeen. “Ugh.”

Bane was already in the pilot’s seat by the time he emerged again. The engines were already warming.

“What took ye so karkin’ long?!” the man demanded.

Obi-Wan scaled the ship and got into his little harness-chair. “It takes time! And I need more than some old knife to do it properly! I mean, Duros clearly don’t have this problem to worry about for themselves, but you’ve got a lot to learn about _beards_.”

Bane might have rolled his eyes, though it was hard to tell. “Ye didn’t even get it all!”

“What do you _mean_ I didn’t—wait. Do… do you mean my eyebrows? You want me to shave off my _eyebrows?_ ”

The man just stared.

“Humans don’t… _what?_ We don’t shave our _eyebrows!_ …Mostly!”

It was genuinely as if Bane neither knew that nor cared, but fortunately, it seemed as if he rather wanted to make good time as opposed to bickering about forehead hair—he just finished prepping the engines. Interestingly, he didn’t bother trying to take back the knife, and Obi-Wan didn’t offer. It was strapped into his belt now, though he was all secured in his harness.

Bane spoke into his gauntlet. “Accessing collar D-36. Run voice identification.” The collar hummed, as per usual, then beeped its compliance. Bane’s next words… they made Obi-Wan purse his lips in curiosity. “Deactivate unless moderate motion detected.”

The collar beeped, hummed, and then, went still.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Wait. Why…?”

The man _tsk_ ed and slammed up the divider between them.

“Ah. So that’s how we’re handling you getting sleep, then. I see. Tying me to a chair.”

Nothing. Clearly the cockpit was soundproofed.

“Well, what am I supposed to do for the next… however long we’re traveling?”

The wall held its secrets.

Obi-Wan sighed.

Somehow, he felt their next destination would not improve his lot.

And he would be right.

The journey took hours—hours of staring up at the light of hyperspace. Hours of being unable to adjust position in the harness, back cramping, mind strained. All he could do was float up nasty little green food cubes by way of the Force so as not to starve. At least Bane had left him a bag, he supposed.

Every time he bit down and chewed like a ruminant with cud, he was not grateful.

He had to have fallen asleep when they emerged at the end, for when he opened his eyes again, he was staring at a brilliant blue sky. The sun shone harshly through the transparisteel, sand buffeting and shearing and grinding the surface. Soon, their starcraft settled down behind white walls, protected from the gritty storm.

The divider between pilot and prisoner fell. Bane’s chair made a full spin, letting him face his captive.

He just sat there, glaring, sizing Obi-Wan up—like he hadn’t done that a hundred times since they’d first met. Right now, his baleful looks had at least 26% more potency. He _must_ have gotten rest. 

Obi-Wan wiggled his fingers and lifted one of the veg-meat cubes to hover in front of the man’s face. “Can I offer you some breakfast?” Bane snatched the cube and tossed it into the garbage hatch. “You know, I don’t blame you for that.”

“T’ings aren’t goin’ well for ye,” the growl came.

“I’d humbly observe they aren’t going well for either of us.”

“Yes, well, they go badly for me, they go worse for _you_.” Those sapphire fingers drummed on one knee. “Ye don’t have friends here. No lightsaber. No ship of yer own, and no communications.”

“…I’m quite aware.”

“And I’ve reactivated yer collar.”

“Lovely. Now, can you let me out of this awful chair for a bit before racking me up to another torture device? My back is _very_ stiff. You have no idea.”

What a visceral sneer! But Bane tapped a few buttons on his gauntlet, and the ship released its cargo. Obi-Wan groaned, cracking his neck, stretching his arms, and finally leaning forward. “Ahhhh. Thank you.”

“Ye done?”

“Almost.” He popped his back once, twice. “Alright. Now, I _have_ noticed you haven’t killed me yet. I’ve also noticed we’ve gone from shouting and punching to… this, and I’d very much like to know why.”

The man let out a sigh, long and long-suffering. “…Wish I could kill ye. Really do.”

“…But you _can_ _’t_. I see.”

“… There’s t’ings that need doin’. And if yer useful, well… I’m inclined to keep ye alive. _Fer now_.”

The strong tug of doubt and unease resounded in Obi-Wan’s gut. “You think I’ll make myself useful to you voluntarily, then.”

“There’s no choice. We need credits—to eat, travel fast, and keep movin’. There’s people who are probably gonna send someone to take me out. Doubt that’d end well for ye either, once they know yer with me. They’re not friends of the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan frowned. Well… _that_ seemed a bit of a paranoid leap. “Who…?”

Silence.

Right then. Honestly, the count probably just wanted his disfavored hunter to stew for a while and then come crawling back, begging for a cut rate with his ruined reputation. Why try to kill such a skilled resource?

Unless this was about something bigger. Unless Bane had _other_ enemies right now.

 _Hrm_.

Well, this sort of paranoia had probably served the man well in the past, and it would be counterproductive to one’s health try and talk him out of the notion. “So I take it you have a plan to shore up your finances.” Obi-Wan sighed—the sandstorm outside really seemed quite familiar. “This is about that Tatooine job, isn’t it? The one we wagered on before.”

Bane’s lip curled. His lack of answer was answer enough.

It was almost possible to feel sorry for him. Almost. If Bane was desperate enough to consider trying to work while carting around _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ as a plus one, things were _bad_.

“You actually want me to… _assist_ you? While I’m your prisoner?!”

“Well, I’m not lettin’ anyone else near ye, and _I_ _’m not leavin’ ye alone_ ,” the man snapped. “Besides, ye’ve got the skill. Ye might hesitate, and ye let yer idiot code get in the way. But ye’ve got capabilities fer _this_. So ye do what I say fer this one t’ing, ye don’t get the shocks, and ye get to eat.” He flashed his wrist, illustrating buttons that controlled the collar.

“And _after_ this job?”

“After that, Jedi… I’ll let ye know.”

What pleasant reassurances. Utterly meaningless.

Still, the neck restraint weighed heavy. Itching. Obi-Wan’s exhausted stomach gurgled desperately for proper nutrition.

“Fine. Let’s say I went along with this… _plan_.” He utilized his newfound mobility to make quotation slashes with his fingers. “Who’s your target? Who’s paying?”

“Tch. This isn’t about kidnapping babies or lootin’ the innocent, if that’s what yer askin’. His name’s Rega Strinder.” A dark chuckle rose from Bane’s throat. “Mercenary fer both sides of yer little war. Explosives expert.” He tapped his other gauntlet, and the hologram of an Ithorian materialized above it, reddish-brown in color, wide-set eyes dewy. Obi-Wan frowned. The wrinkles along Strinder’s long and sinewy neck indicated advancing age. “Got into a feud with Black Sun after ignitin’ a ship that a bigshot’s kid was on. Strinder ran to his Hutt connections lookin’ for protection—guess he didn’t expect ‘em to to give him up, but they weren’t gonna start a syndicate war over _this_. So Strinder stole a speeder and fled into the sand, bearin’ west. Hasn’t been seen since… though neither have the other hunters sent to go get him. He’s alive, sure as not. My guess: he’s dug himself into the cave systems and booby trapped them.”

Obi-Wan _hrmmm_ ed. Caves likely _would_ be the only option to survive. The Dune Sea was a dangerous place—he suddenly wasn’t surprised Bane wanted a second pair of hands to take it on; even he knew no one went into the desert alone if they were bright. All the same, he didn’t fancy risking his life for slim chances, and especially not for this man. “You know, these other hunters, they might have gotten picked off by the indigenous folk here, for all anyone can guess. This Strinder could be dead at the bottom of a gorge, buried in sand, where no one will ever find him.”

Bane made a dismissive wave of his hand. “No. This lot sharpened their skills lookin’ for krayts out here—wouldn’t have been taken by surprise by some screamin’, stick wavin’ Tuskens. T’ought for sure they’d have taken down the mark by the time I got out of prison. But it works out for me that they didn’t.”

Obi-Wan took stock of the two of them, looking around at the ship, deciding it really wasn’t holding a lot of extra storage and secrets. “Alright. But consider: I have a _knife_. You have what’s probably your third-rate gear, with no way to resupply. And you’re asking my help to outdo a team of experienced _krayt dragon hunters_ in the Tatooine desert?”

“Didn’t t’ink a big master Jedi would be _scared_ of an old Ithorian and some sunshine.”

“I’m not scared. I’m sensible. Don’t even try to push that button with me; I’m _not_ Hardeen.” For this, he received quite an incredulous glare. “And you know what I mean by that!”

“Yes, well, the syndicates are about the only ones willin’ to do private business right now.” Bane shrugged. “It’s this… _or yer not of use to me_.” The words hung frosty in the hot air, a knife seeking ribs to sink between.

“…What if you changed careers? Found a nice position at the cantina in Mos Eisley, perhaps washing dishes?”

This was met with utter, contemptuous silence.

“…Fine. I’ll do it. I suppose the sooner I’m not eating these rations, the happier I’ll be.”

* * *

The dunes blurred past two speeder riders, wind howling, goggles around their eyes and cloth around their mouths. It was late afternoon—the twin suns burned the dust and rock red, halos of mirage rippling across the horizon. The riders’ hunches made their hunger and desperation clear.

Obi-Wan, astride the bike in the rear, squinted through his grimy lenses. It seemed Bane had cashed in a couple favors to get these speeders on loan, but they were a bit…

Well. One could actually smell the turbine jets slowly burning to death.

His engine made a disturbing pop, vibrated, and suddenly started to lose speed—Bane began pulling further ahead.

“Oh come on!” Obi-Wan revved his bike frantically until something jittered into place. The bike began to accelerate. He breathed a sigh of relief and hoped it wouldn’t collapse out from under him in a cloud of rust.

His captor seemed weighed down with whatever gear he’d been able to salvage from his hideout: a scoped rifle, a few explosives, two pistols, and whatever other tricks he’d stuffed up his sleeves. He still swaggered like he was using top-shelf armaments—even had tossed Obi-Wan a blaster, seemingly unconcerned with getting shot in the back.

Which he continued to be right about. It grated.

That pistol was now strapped to Obi-Wan’s belt alongside the knife. However, the gun was so old, it was impossible to say what model it even was—even the manufacturer’s mark had been worn off. It also was so incredibly itty-bitty that Senator Amidala could have concealed it in her party dress if she needed to keep the proper blasters at home.

Maybe it was a joke. Maybe Bane thought he was _hilarious_.

The man in question surged on, goggles on the road ahead. Obi-Wan could only keep following like a chained pet. Night was coming soon.

An hour later, Bane raised a fist, signaling they pull up into a concealing valley in the sand. He hopped off his bike and locked it down as if he’d done this a hundred times—Obi-Wan dismounted as well, though his back creaked and his legs stung, chafed. Much more of this and he was sure he’d be ground down into nothing by the gritty air.

Ugh. The insects needed to be _smeared_ off his goggles. At least he could rest. Body dried to a husk from the desert winds, he swigged greedily from the water container attached to the side of his speeder.

Bane impatiently motioned. Obi-Wan grimaced and came, warm water still dripping from his bare, chapped chin.

“Come on. We’re gettin’ food.”

“You didn’t get any food when you got these speeders? None at all?” Bane just stared. Obi-Wan felt his stomach turn already, thinking of more stale veg-meat cubes. “So you _are_ broke.” The man unholstered his rifle and remained unmoved. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to guard the camp? Get it set up?”

“The speeders are hidden enough, and I might go out of range of yer collar if I go alone—so hurry it up, unless ye’d like to paint the stones with yer brains. We need to be back before the suns set.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan continued complying.

This man moved through the desert with purpose, setting a grueling pace. Every so often, as they’d crest a dune or rock, he’d pull out a small pair of binoculars, peering out over the scrub before hustling on again. The only sound was the wind and the soft scrape of their feet through the dust.

The sinking suns scorched them through. The ground baked. Did Duros sunburn? Obi-Wan was. His neck stung, his ears too.

But his captor gave no sign of discomfort, and neither did he. Bane remained silent even a half-hour into their trek, as if he traveled alone, a toothpick rolling between his lips.

Obi-Wan had to wonder. How long was the intention to keep him around, really? Why _had_ he gone to all this trouble to kidnap a Jedi, demanding to know what had been done to his _head?_

_Dreams. Thoughts._

Obi-Wan had to wonder. _I_ _’ve dreamt of you. Do you also…?_

What a disturbing notion. Of course, if Bane was particularly Force-sensitive, _someone_ would have noticed by now. The sheer havoc he’d be capable of…! “What kind of dreams are they?”

He might as well have screamed in the library in front of Madame Jocasta. Bane turned to him like breaking the silence was a depraved act. “Conversation? _That_ _’s_ what ye want to do?”

“You said you had dreams. And thoughts, ones you wanted me to explain. I’m thinking it over.”

“Kark off.”

“ _You kidnapped me_ from a high-security trial, which would have made things much more complicated for you, because you wanted to know something. Badly. But you didn’t give me much to understand.”

“Not now. I’m huntin’, Kenobi. Quiet.” Bane scowled and brought up the binocs again, scanning the horizon.

Mercurial. That was the only word for it. Blazing with anger about this barely even forty-eight hours past, and now, he just wanted to cart through the desert with a slave-collared Jedi, hunting, hunting, hunting, like it was another Taungsday. “Why bother with all this if you don’t want to speak about what you were _torturing_ me for?”

“ _Quiet!_ ” A long pause reigned as the man kept watch. Then finally, the toothpick pointed up to the sky as a smile dawned. Without another word, Bane slipped the binocs back into his pack, then hurried forward, sliding down the dune and clambering up a nearby overhang that loomed over another segment of endless beige.

Shrugging, exasperated, Obi-Wan followed him and started climbing too. The stone bit hard into his fingertips, porous and gritty, but he could find purchase. Bane was already waiting at the top when he got there—the suns blinding under the rim of that ridiculously wide hat, his shadow casting long. Squinting in the light, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be reminded of something he’d read a long time ago… a class he’d been in as a youngling.

“A lantern endless in the egg of the sky,” he whispered hoarsely to himself as he finished his climb. “And below, her children, dust in her darkness.” He’d always loved the writings of Master Ilandi. Her lines always felt depressing at first, even in translation, but they belied a deep love of the living Force in nature.

“The kriff…?” Bane _tsk_ ed incredulously, coming down to lay onto his belly, pulling out his rifle. “This isn’t the place for yer crusty ancient poetry. Now get down.”

“…You _recognized_ that?”

“ _Get down._ And be quiet!”

Obi-Wan managed this with all irritation and squinted.

The flat before them was full of holes and surprising life. Rodents. A… colony? Scampering. Burrowing. Small social-looking things with curling tails, popping in and out of strange white-crested warrens.

Bane’s fangs bore hungrily in a smile. “Stay quiet. The vermin’ll scatter if they sense ye.”

“…Dinner, I take it.” Obi-Wan hated to admit it, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been in this particular culinary situation. The last time, he’d been with Commander Cody… battlefield rations did things to people eventually. “Are these the famous womp rats?”

A dangerous, low chuckle was his answer. “Oh, no. Ye’d know a womp rat if ye saw it.” Nimble blue fingers went to a belt, unhooked a smoke pellet. “Ye wanna make yerself useful?”

“I don’t know how good this pistol’s going to be actually _shooting_.”

“Tch. Don’t waste the charges. Get that pellet into one of the burrows and set it off.” He tossed it over, leveling his rifle, clearly preparing.

“Any of them?”

“ _Yes_ , any of them.”

Shrugging, Obi-Wan focused on the pellet, let the Force carry it down the sand and to the colony. His wrist was easy and slack, bringing it down. And then, when it was safely inside, he squeezed his fist. White smoke started to pour from the hole, then began to trickle out of all the dens. Ah! So they were all connected via a tunnel system.

The rats began to surface in multitudes, confused and distraught. They scampered around each other, feeling the others with their whiskers, tails lashing.

And Bane exhaled, a long hiss of focused breath. He squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. But he hit exactly _none_ of his presumed targets—just scarred the earth at the far end of the flat.

The rats panicked. Suddenly, they were nothing but blurs over the sand, far too quick to chase. Obi-Wan sighed. Well. There went dinner.

Yet…

The rats weren’t running away or back into their dens. They were running _towards_ their hunters.

 _What_ _…?_

Bane just unhooked a little ball from his belt and activated it, letting it clatter down the rock and over the flat. It blew right into the charging mass, going off, zapping almost fifteen vermin with popping electrical arcs. That blast wouldn’t have taken out a human; but for creatures so small, it seemed to stop their little hearts. They dropped. The survivors who’d been missed scattered to live another day.

“They sense threats by vibration,” Bane said flatly. “Bunch ‘em up, shoot behind, and they’ll panic and run towards ye. Wastes a drukload less charges. Now go get ‘em. Don’t got long until dark.”

Obi-Wan popped his lips, slightly impressed. Still… being particularly good at killing things was not a skill to be proud of. He said nothing. But hungry, he collected the rats, all of them, until his arms were nothing but a furry, musky pile.

The fire burned bright that night, fragrant with the sap of the dried desert brush. The skinned rodents cooked rapidly on spits, rubbed in some sort tangy-smelling juice from a nearby yellow succulent. Bane seemed to have no issue handing over half his kills after they’d finished roasting, wordless, face neutral; he seemed to have begrudgingly accepted his obligation to feed his hostage. Obi-Wan didn’t thank him. Seemed a backwards thing to do, given the circumstances.

He also didn’t really care to share that this was the best rat he’d ever had. He simply chewed slowly, deliberately, attempting to give the act even a shred of dignity.

Bane of course was tearing through his meal like he hadn’t eaten at all since this mess had begun, spitting out tails and wrenching off gristle. Those teeth of his had a purpose. Every now and again, he’d glance over, until finally, he seemed to get fed up, spitting out a few bones at Obi-Wan’s feet. “What do ye keep _lookin_ ’ at?”

“Just wondering if you chew.”

“Those disgustin’ veg-meat rations were made fer humans, Kenobi. I haven’t eaten proper in days—I’ll chew how I want.”

Ah. Obi-Wan turned away, letting Bane just be.

But he didn’t like it, despite his unwillingness to watch the finer points of swallowing vermin heads whole. He had more to say. More to demand. And as time went on, as bellies were filled and flames were stared at, the silence started to be unbearable again. The air was so _brittle_ here. Questions filled him up to burst. Everything about this arrangement, about _Bane_ , was far beyond his understanding, near absurd. He supposed he was like as not going to get insulted again for prying, but… really! What on earth did the Force want with him acknowledging some sort of connection to this… this emotionally stunted, half-feral sociopath… who was currently collecting some of the rodent bones into a little comparison pile?!

“…What are you even trying to do?”

The man held up two ribs. “Some of ‘em make good needles.”

“ _No_. What are you doing out _here?_ Bounty hunting still, and dragging me into it, no less? You could do anything at all for money right now, and you’re picking the most dangerous thing possible with very little gear and supplies. You’re already facing a death sentence for what you’ve done, and you’re just launching back into it, like you can take on any head of state you want, and their armies, and half the galaxy after you get a few credits. _Why?_ ”

Bane sneered and narrowed his gaze. “Why do ye care?”

“Because I’m stuck with you!” The shout echoed far too loud in the cool, empty night. Nothingness answered. Those crimson eyes flickered threateningly in the firelight.

Surprisingly, however, Bane did finally choose to answer. Maybe he was annoyed and thought this would quiet his unwilling companion. Maybe recent events had worn him down. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the feeling Obi-Wan was also getting in that midnight dark—in this empty desert, the galaxy spinning overhead, it was like they were the only two people in a deafeningly silent and lonely universe. To acknowledge the other… it was a heady urge.

Either way, the snarl was soft. “It’s what I’ve always been.”

Really? That was it? “Uh-huh. So your mother looked at you… or, or your egg, or whatever… and said, ah yes, this will be my child, _Cad Bane_ , who I will name using several words that mean _arsehole_ in Basic, as being a killer and an awful person is his only lot.”

Bane actually removed the toothpick from his teeth and produced a sudden, wheezing cackle. Then he gave Obi-Wan a reproachful look, like he was pissed the man had made him experience humor. “Funny t’ing, comin’ from a _Jedi_.”

“Being a Jedi doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“Sure it does. Squirmin’ lil’ grub Kenobi got scooped up at birth, with only one lot in life. They sent ye off to Jedi school and taught ye to kill the Republic’s enemies, and ye just kept doin’ that ever since. Never gonna do anythin’ else. Just what ye people are, what ye’ve always been.”

“That is _not_ what—” Obi-Wan almost finished spitting back a retort when he realized Bane was merely flipping the conversation and goading him without revealing anything at all.

It was wiser just to give up.

But then, Obi-Wan remembered a sabacc game, a question that had been asked of him as Hardeen: and his own rhetoric about how there was no such thing as retirement. That he wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.

Maybe there was no learning to go wash dishes or catch fish, for either of them. Maybe Bane’s snark truly _was_ a meaningful response. Because they were…

Kriff. Because they were alike, in some small, stupid way.

“Did ye get this chatty with the Zygerrians too?” The man unspooled some string from his pocket, binding a few of the bones he was handling into a little packet. “Or am I just special?”

Ah, so now he was trying to fight dirty, bringing Zygerria into it. Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “I’m merely figuring this out.”

Bane squinted. “With idiotic questions?”

“Well, you’ve been refusing to answer my smart ones. I’m rather out of options.”

“… _Tch_. Hardeen at least knew how to shut up…”

“Oh? I thought you liked him making noise.”

Bane simply drew his knife like he was going to jam it into his prisoner’s eye. “So, ye wanna talk about that, eh?” Obi-Wan could have slapped himself. Not for the first time, he knew his comebacks were going to get him into a lot of trouble one day. “Tell ye what, Kenobi. I’ll entertain one o’ yer… pointless personal curiosities if ye answer one of mine, _very_ honestly. And you should remember: I’ve got a good chance of knowin’ if ye aren’t bein’ that.”

Instantly Obi-Wan’s stomach turned.

“I wanna know, did ye _really_ like it when ye let me flip ye over and fuck ye stupid? Or are ye a better actor than I thought? Because ye felt like ye were _beggin_ _’_ for it, from where I was.” He made a lewd pulling gesture towards his hips. “ _Smearin_ _’ yerself all over my sheets._ ” Obi-Wan recoiled. “See, I’ve been thinkin’, I heard ye Jedi usually just let yer dicks drop off from lack of use, but ye _really_ seemed to know what ye were into that time.”

All of Obi-Wan’s curiosity and wit shriveled. “I see we’re just going to lean into being as crude and pointless as possible about it.”

“Doesn’t seem pointless to me.” Bane shrugged, tapping that knife to his chin. “Relevant, to know whether yer new obligation’s secretly cravin’ to drop his pants fer anyone that asks.”

“It was a one-time thing!” Obi-Wan hissed. “It was a bad situation!”

“Oh? Avoidin’ the question though, aren’t ye? Could it be that… maybe… ye don’t _like_ personal questions? From someone ye wish would just shut up?”

“…Fine! _Fine_.”

“Good. And if ye ask me any more dewback-dung about my… my credits or my ambitions or some kriffin’ pile of nonsense, I’m only answerin’ with questions about yer dick.”

This was too surreal for Obi-Wan to handle. His stomach churned like he might throw up in the sand. For a long minute, he was quiet.

The wind sang softly over the dunes. It was all he could hear.

But then… his burning embarrassment… it actually started to dissipate.

No one had been here to witness that gross display. No one knew still, what had transpired during that transporter journey to Naboo. This lonely night felt like it swallowed up all these secrets, no matter how loudly they were shouted.

So if Bane wanted to run two speeders at each other and see who turned away at the last second? Fine!

“So it’s a deal you’re making with me then? A little contract? You answer me if I answer you?”

“Yeah, Kenobi, it’s a kriffin’ deal; now leave me alone.”

“Then fine. Yes. I wasn’t acting. I enjoyed it.”

The man actually fudged his hold on the little bones, a few tinkling off his boots. He turned and stared. That expression was iron neutrality. Not even a single retort.

Perhaps this was his shocked face.

“And yes, you know what?” Obi-Wan continued. “We Jedi don’t really spend a lot of time chasing those pursuits, due to certain risks. We’re forbidden from forming attachments—perhaps you already know that. But I’d been pretending to be someone else for days, getting worn out, coming into conflict with my deepest code at every step. I’d been through too much before that, too. I was a mess. And you started making advancements, and it was entirely a miscommunication—let’s be clear about that. I did not go in there looking to seduce Cad-bloody-Bane. I did it to keep my cover, and I do not intend to do it again. But _yes_. In the middle of all that? I found it in myself to enjoy it anyway.”

Bane continued his very agreeable stretch of simply being at a loss.

“So now, if you’re going to fulfill your contract, you have to answer me too. Why don’t you tell me—what’s even driving you? Money? Thrills? Or is it because you _like_ hurting people? Do you even _believe_ in anything at all, like the Separatist cause? Or just yourself?”

The threat of the _contract_ seemed to trigger something in Bane’s principles, interestingly enough. Instead of telling his interrogator to kark right off—though his expression belied he’d like to, and perhaps also deploy a few ruthless mockeries—he actually crossed his arms, face smoothing, like this was a matter of professional pride. “Feh. A lot of questions. You get _one_.”

Obi-Wan sighed. All of those curiosities led to one mystery. _Why would the Force connect me to you at all?_

Bane would never answer it like that.

“Fine. You could do a lot without hurting innocents. You don’t. Why?”

That earned him quite a glare. “Ye ought to sit on yer lightsaber and spin.”

“Contract, Bane.”

“Fine.” He sucked on his toothpick for a moment, then removed it, punctuating his words with it in the air. “I like bein’ the _best_ , Kenobi. I like making money. I like the job bein’ done right, and if people are goin’ to get in the way of that, I need ‘em to know _not_ to. It’s not about hurtin’… _innocents_ , or whatever ye call them. It’s business. This isn’t a galaxy where things are nice. Not a place where things are fair. Not a place that even has whatever _innocents_ ye Jedi think exist. Ye get righteous about me gunnin’ down people who do me wrong, because they’re unarmed for a half-minute or some bantha _shite_ , when they’re just gonna walk free and bring _me_ harm if I don’t kill them or scare them so badly they don’t try anythin’. Ye judge me when I stole babies from their poor sad families. Fine. But those babies were goin’ to get takin’ by the Jedi in a couple years. Already slated to be soldiers, killin’ and enforcin’ for the Republic. Who cares if they get sent to the other side to do the same? Never goin’ to see their sad mamas again either way. Kriff. Maybe it’s better; they’ll remember their sad mamas _less_ if ye take ‘em younger. Sounds a kindness.”

“That’s not the same outcome in _any_ way! Those children might not be taken at all, should their families decline—and the Jedi are not… _soldiers!_ ”

“Whatever. Ye act like it from where I’m standin’, _General._ ” Obi-Wan glared. “People get hurt all the time. Especially by you and yer Order. At least I’m admittin’ it and gettin’ a good livin’.”

“That… is breathtakingly selfish.”

Bane shrugged. “I’m not the one tryin’ to strangle some dusty old philosophy into a shape that makes me feel better. I am what I am. I _know_ what I am. And if ye don’t know what ye are, yer mind isn’t clear enough to take the shot when ye need to.” He smirked. “It’s why ye _hesitate_ , Kenobi. Why ye’ll _always_ hesitate.”

This all sunk under Obi-Wan’s skin, simmering. And yet, as frustrated as he was, he was more disappointed. Would have been nice to look inside his captor and find a proper soul. “…Having multiple prison sentences and being on the run all the time hardly seems like a _good living._ ”

“Sometimes yer sabacc hand is good and sometimes it isn’t. The point is to know how to keep playin’.”

Obi-Wan just sat in the silence and marinated.

But Bane seemed to pick up on the fact he was wearing his prisoner out, like that unease made him much more interested. “Ye wanna ask another one? Because I do.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he had the stomach to pry more into this man’s psyche tonight. “…It depends.”

“See? Ye hesitate.” Bane laughed a greasy cackle. “But I’d like to know: ye said ye don’t _intend_ to get all frisky with me again, but what’s my odds ye might want to anyway? Ye watch me awful close.”

“…Are you serious?”

Bane cracked his neck. “Told ye. My mind’s clear. I only worry about the important things, like makin’ my livin’, gettin’ what’s mine, and, apparently showin’ an uptight Jedi the best time he’s ever had in his little monk life.”

“…Your odds? Are _awful_.”

Bane scooted in, leering. His eyes burned with inner fire, lean body twisting close. His mocking lips twisted in a little taunt.

And Obi-Wan’s body… a pulse of memory shot through his groin, the last time he’d had that look sweeping over him. He swallowed, hard. _Absolutely not!_

“Ye _sure_ yer bein’ honest?”

Obi-Wan grimaced at the wave of scorched rodent on Bane’s breath, the blood and char, and refused to flinch.

“It’s okay,” the man hissed, lewdly running his tongue over his teeth. “Ye can t’ink on it for a while.” And then, still sneering like the entire world was a joke, he agilely slunk to his feet and over to his sleeping roll, laying back on it and turning away. His hat was pulled down low over his eyes.

“…Bane. My collar…?!”

“Oh. Right.” The man lazily tapped at his gauntlet and mumbled something softly. Obi-Wan felt the familiar beep and buzz up against his throat. “Yer on first watch. And ye get four hours this time before ye blow up. Isn’t that nice?” Then, the man just heaved a relaxed breath and was still.

“…How generous of you.”

No response.

“Did you seriously just fall right asleep?”

Nothing.

Snorting from disbelief, Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and looked up at the stars.

His current temper… was unbefitting a Jedi.

He said that to himself, over and over, trying to make it true.

Eventually, his anger cooled. It had no choice, in that isolating night, nothing but his silence and the knowledge that being an utter _sleemo_ , as Ahsoka would put it, was Bane’s very nature. Snakes could not help but bite. Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t let this under his skin so much.

And the stars? They really were beautiful. A million, billion lights in that black velvet, all connected, no matter how far or close they were. Alliances and trading and sharing. A wingbeat on one world created huge tides of change a thousand parsecs away.

So many connections, and so many people unaware of it all.

As contemplating the larger nature of the universe and his place in it often allowed him to do, Obi-Wan found a little calm.

And then, a simple piece of the puzzle in his head clicked.

That was it, wasn’t it? The undercurrent troubling him inside Bane’s selfish words: Bane’s _weakness_. Perhaps the true source of his anger over Hardeen, and maybe even… the reason why _he was lying_ about how above it all he was.

“Actually, I’ve got my question for you.”

An annoyed grumble. “Really? Now? What is it?” Good. The power of the contract seemed to be a fairly strong principle here.

“You say your mind and conscience are clear. That you’re only worried about your money. But it’s not an easy life, or a natural one, always trying to stay in the game a little while longer.”

“…Is this a question or a treatise?”

Obi-Wan pretended he hadn’t heard. “You just keep moving, hurting anyone that tries to stop or even inconvenience you. You don’t have any friends in the entire galaxy because of your choices—no one willing to stick up for you when it went bad with Dooku… no one who would say some words over you, if you were dead. No one to talk to—except someone who has literally no choice in the matter. Bane, why don’t you answer this: _you_ _’re an exceedingly lonely man, aren’t you?_ ”

The bounty hunter didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But his stillness subtly changed, from a can’t-be-bothered indifference to a coiled, hair-trigger spring.

“It’s okay,” Obi-Wan said, eyes narrowed. “You can _think_ on it for a while.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” came the spat.

Turning back to the stars, this Jedi… well, he felt a little smug, actually. And Bane, he didn’t say a single thing for the next four hours. Didn’t move. But Obi-Wan actually doubted he slept. He was already sneering at the world and ready for his watch without needing to be prompted when it was time—actually fifteen minutes early.

Obi-Wan went to sleep, and he rested well. When the suns finally rose again, camp was packed and the journey resumed.

Neither of them looked at or spoke to the other at all.


	5. The Desert Sun, II

The morning burned early—endless yellow-red flats below and endless blue sky above. This far out in the dunes, there were no bearings for the untrained eye, no civilization on the horizon.

But Bane found the cave system they sought. Together, they pushed their speeders against a rock face near a cavernous opening, protecting them from sandstorms. Obi-Wan sighed, sore and irritated from another long ride, worn down from the wind. His bike’s water container was now dipping below its halfway mark.

He took one last sip and filled the smaller container on his belt.

“Step lightly,” Bane warned, slipping into the cave. It was the first thing he’d uttered since their nighttime barbs. “I haven’t seen any Tuskens yet, but these places…”

Obi-Wan swallowed. Yes, the last stories he’d heard of said nomads had not left a warm impression, to say the least: such merciless beings when it came to those other than themselves. “Right. They like the caves, then?”

“…And so do other t’ings.”

“Lovely.”

Together, they descended. Bane passed him a set of night vision goggles. And as the scorching, bright suns vanished behind them, hot, gritty oxygen gave way to the odor of creeping mold, a chill air wafting through the utter black.

They seemed to walk for nearly twenty minutes, path tilting down, ever down. Occasionally, Obi-Wan would spy strange images on the walls: figures done in reddish hues, wielding triumphant sticks. Signs of life ancient, flaking, worn. He traced his hand along the stone, wondering, but brought back only slime. He had to wipe it furiously on his tunic as it started to itch.

“Quiet.” Bane suddenly stopped, boots making shockingly little noise. Then, he swung his head carefully, this way and that, down three diverging paths in the rock. Each was big enough to drive a tank through.

Obi-Wan peered. He could judge little of these subterranean roads. Perhaps Duros eyes picked up something he could not.

“Somethin’ isn’t right,” Bane whispered. “Ye hear that?”

Obi-Wan listened. Actually… yes.

Down the widest passage, he could hear wind. Faint. Damp.

No. Wait. Not wind. It was too regular.

Long, whistling breathing. An almost groaning, growling quality. Slowly, he crept forward—that passage… it felt cold. Wrong.

Something was _horribly_ wrong.

And then, a bellow resounded: a bone-chilling, floor-vibrating, screeching _roar_.

Bane didn’t even hesitate—he bolted down a different path. Obi-Wan agreed. And they didn’t stop for another good five minutes, winding deeper into the underground, hurtling headlong through twisting, craggy rock. Obi-Wan embraced the Force with all of his body to keep up, because Bane was a leggy, swift sprinter who seemed to have no interest in going anything less than full speed. They only skidded to a halt when an impassable rock wall met them. A dead end.

Together, they stood, panting, getting their breath. Obi-Wan touched the wall. “Was that…?”

“T'ink it's a young dragon!” Bane spun. “No wonder there’s no Tuskens down here!”

“We’re trapped. If it follows us—”

The man went up to the rock face, taking out another knife and scraping it as a test. “Sandstone down here still. Can’t set mines. Might send this whole place fallin’ on our heads.”

“Maybe the krayt didn’t sense us yet.”

Another blood-freezing screech echoed through the maze.

There was no cover. Nowhere to hide; no vantage points or high ground.

Obi-Wan knew the legends—too many Jedi had sought those seductive dragon pearls to craft special lightsabers, blades that were destructive beyond reckoning. The dragons were supposedly so big, they could crush scores of people in their dagger-lined maws, their lashing talons and spines death at all angles, their scaly hides impenetrable to most forms of attack. Most challengers died trying to take them down. The bodies were _never_ recovered.

And oh, how those murderous monsters loved nesting in Tatooine caves.

“I’m not dyin’ in here,” Bane hissed, drawing his weapons, like _his_ guns would somehow succeed in scoring dragon hide where anything else would fail. “We need to double back, try the other passage. I’m not waitin’ for that t’ing to come eat me alive.” He began his return, springing silently over loose stones.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan sucked down his oxygen and desperately followed. “ _Other_ passage?! You want to keep—”

“I’m not leavin’ without that fool Ithorian! This is the easiest cave to access in this system! This is where he’d be!”

“Then he’s probably a pile of bones in that thing’s belly!”

“No, Strinder isn’t that—” And Bane suddenly stopped. Obi-Wan slammed his brakes, though they collided anyway—the man instantly reacted, grabbing clothes, growling and manhandling a Jedi back out of personal space. “ _Listen_. Strinder isn’t that stupid.”

“What are you—”

“Shhh.” Bane just stood in the middle of the road, not even pressing himself to the wall, cocking his head.

The dragon bellowed again, the noise a vengeful, brain-curdling thing.

But Bane _smiled_. It was that ugly look of anticipation he got, full fangs and savagery. “Tricky little slugspit!”

Then, he started to move… just ambling forward. Almost clomping, like he didn’t care if his boots could raise the dead.

Obi-Wan panted, brow furrowed in the dark, feeling the cold weight of the collar ‘round his neck. If Bane died…

And yet… 

Obi-Wan quieted himself. He followed. He listened.

The dragon howled, all fury and death.

It… wasn’t getting closer though, was it? The echoes down here carried, but the beast wasn’t _moving_.

But what of the cold feeling…? The sense of wrongness?

They reached the juncture in the road again, and this time, when Bane turned, it was right into the path of the monster’s den. Around the bend, a speaker was adhered to the wall. It bellowed with so much rage, the cavern vibrated. Bane sneered, then drew his pistol and shot the contraption into oblivion with a shower of sparks, spitting some ugly, unheard epithet.

Finally, these caves were silent and still.

“Strinder,” Obi-Wan observed, bringing his hands down from their protective cup around his ears.

“Yeah.”

“He’ll know we’re coming now.”

“He already knew.” Bane holstered his pistols. “Recordin’ didn’t start hollerin’ at all until we got close.”

…This was likely correct.

Still feeling the chill dread of this place, Obi-Wan peered warily ahead.

The passage continued, dipping and winding for many, many steps. Strange glowing fungus started to appear, scaling the walls in patches and rings. The air changed quality, almost in a way that couldn’t be described—but it made Obi-Wan’s neck rise, his nostrils flare. It was as if an awful odor hung here, tingling in his sinuses.

And yet, there was nothing. The sensation just kept wrenching in his gut and skull like ice.

It was getting stronger.

Then, up ahead, the tunnel finally opened into a large chamber. He caught Bane’s shoulder. “Wait.” His heart was firing faster, his head a little dizzy.

The man flinched away, scowled. But he paused.

Obi-Wan crept past, not knowing what unsettled him so. Something was blighted here. Something… dark, a thing just at the corner of his eyes—as if death’s frigid shadow had passed through this place many times.

And as he reached the larger cavern, he knew he’d been right.

Bodies. Blood. So _many_ of them.

Tuskens sprawled haphazardly along the floor and against the walls, clutching their rifles and spears even when their arms and legs were strewn far from their torsos. Their sandy robes were stained deep with dust and gore. Scattered among what might have been over two dozen of these masked warriors were more colorful outsider trappings too. Pieces of Rodians, humans, Trandoshans…

This feeling was the echo of scores who had died in confusion and fear.

The stink finally hit. Scorched, aging meat. Painstakingly slow stages of decay in this desiccated place.

Obi-Wan gagged and covered his face with his sleeve. “…I’ve found the ones that weren’t scared away by the recordings.”

Even Bane didn’t seem to have any nasty quips to add. He was silent as he stepped into the chamber’s entrance, rigid, alert. His face scrunched with disgust. “Strinder’s work alright,” he finally spoke, low. A dismembered Rodian caught his eye, half buried by collapsed, brittle rock—and he gingerly reached for a glint near the corpse’s hip. Perhaps it was a gun.

Obi-Wan grabbed him with the Force and yanked him back. And when Bane touched down on the earth again and scrabbled to get his balance, he whirled and bared fangs, as if to ask if this was an assault. But Obi-Wan pointed at the body urgently.

The softest of red lights peeked from under the Rodian’s neck, concealed by rock. This trick, he’d encountered often on the battlefield. Gruesome. Effective.

And Bane didn’t look happy. “No gettin’ greedy then,” he whispered. “Whole room’s probably mined like that.”

“Why, thank you, Kenobi,” Obi-Wan said to himself. “For not letting me explode! Oh, you’re very welcome, dearest companion, of course, anytime.”

Bane just shrugged that off like the act of spoken gratitude was childish. Instead, he peered up at the roof of this stone cathedral. Deep crevices and cracks ran throughout from previous detonations, and tiny streams of sand dribbled between, wafting downwards. “Strinder’s gettin’ desperate and reckless, even if he’s effective. This place isn’t going to take it if many more of these go off.”

Well, certainly, no one liked getting buried alive. “So how do you propose we proceed? _I_ don’t exactly have rocket boots.”

“Yeah, well, right now, I don’t either, so—”

But then, the air shifted. A whine in the dark. A pop in the ears.

Obi-Wan threw himself down just as a grenade blasted the rock to his left. Dust and gravel showered his backside. Bane vaulted backwards to safety as well, and his agile hands were already drawing his pistols, slinging eye-searing flashes of red into the pitch-dark. Obi-Wan ducked his gaze as he scrambled to his feet again, night-vision goggles overloading with light.

He still sensed _nothing_.

Nothing _living_.

He was right. As his goggles reset and Bane held his fire, searching too, twin golden orbs flickered at the cavern’s far end.

A droid’s electronic eyes.

“Are ye serious…?” Bane spat.

It was a stumpy, floating thing, the sort of artificial life manufactured as a technical assistant or a friend instead of a machine of war. Cute! Rounded corners. A little face.

It also had a grenade launcher fused precariously to its oversized and butchered cranium. Stray wires jury-rigged the modification together through stripped access ports, and slowly, it sputtered forward, locking onto its targets.

“Oh! Hello!” it greeted in its chipper, factory-fresh voice. “A pleasure to meet you. My master requests that you hold still.”

Another grenade lobbed directly at them.

Bane shot a grapple line from his wrist, rocketing up to a stalactite high. Obi-Wan dove heedlessly at the opposite wall, trusting the Force, trusting—

The grenade made contact just above the cavern entrance, bursting in a concussive wave, shattering the sandstone. It didn’t entirely collapse, but boulders the size of a man’s head began to clatter loose.

Obi-Wan hung perilously off a handhold on a high rock face to the left, scrabbling for purchase, desperate not to plummet to the hidden mines in the bodies below.

“Repeating request,” the droid happily announced. “In Huttese, in case you did not understand.” No doubt the next words that came out of his vocabulator were very polite, but Obi-Wan did not pay attention. He twisted midair until his back and shoulder muscles screamed, still hanging from the handhold, then drew his tiny pop-gun blaster and fired at the grenade launcher.

 _TSSCHOWWW!_ His goggles almost went haywire again in the sheer amount of light. An overcharged bolt burst from what was apparently a _massively_ overcompensated weapon, going wide. The blowback nearly caused Obi-Wan to lose his grip and fall.

But the blast just winged off its intended target—the droid spun out in midair, poorly balanced and calibrated with the launcher on its skull. And the blaster’s power cell surged scorching hot. Obi-Wan gasped and dropped it as his flesh burned. _…Kriff!_ The gun clattered into oblivion.

The droid was reasserting its control over its inner gyroscope. It wobbled its boosters forward, fixing its attention on its Jedi attacker’s precarious hang.

“ _Got you!_ ” Suddenly, Bane swung to a new vantage point and launched down from his roost, falling on the droid’s cranium, latching like a ravenous mynock to a starship hull.

The grenade launcher fired just as the droid overbalanced and tipped down to the earth. It exploded right in their faces. The blast shot the misshapen technical assistant _high_ into the air, along with its passenger. A chain reaction bubbled along the mines in the ground, a thunderous bellow of explosives, blowing hot smoke and dust into Obi-Wan's vision—rattling the walls, shifting several stone monoliths up high. Bane was slammed onto a ledge along with his quarry, which was currently firing all thrusters and attempting to throw him like a slippery fish.

The man shouted. Obi-Wan couldn’t hear. His ears rang. His night vision goggles veered wildly in and out of focus.

But he sensed what his companion needed, lest they both die when that thing recovered its bearings.

He reached out, gripping with the Force. For a second, the droid’s gears ground, its joints sparking with the confused indignity of an invisible vice.

Bane was able to free a hand to tap his gauntlet. An excessive amount of volts from his shock gloves launched into the droid’s processors.

The golden stare flickered dead. The thrusters abruptly died.

It fell on Bane, and the both of them lay on that ledge together, unmoving.

Alarm flared in Obi-Wan’s mind, but the best he could do was save himself. He wrenched his body and found purchase with his second hand, lessening the crushing burden he’d been demanding of the first as he’d fought to hang there like laundry. His next ordeal was to slowly, painfully scrabble to another ledge nearby. This one, at least, was thankfully clear of mines. Unfortunately, as he dropped to his feet, lightly soothing his bleeding and numb fingers with his tongue… a blaster’s soft click and hum met him.

Jerking, startled, Obi-Wan dropped his hands. He’d felt no warning: but a man emerged from a hidden crevice, just a short stagger away. An Ithorian. This desperate figure panted, his quavering, rattling speech almost too unsteady to translate. There were no cybernetics secured to his throat’s four openings to help.

Luckily, Obi-Wan knew a little of the language.

“ _H-hands up_.”

Compliance was rapid.

The man gave him an anxious glare, the end of his blaster wavering. It flickered briefly over to where Bane was collapsed, but the man continued to lay prone, unmoving. Unconscious? Injured? He was just too far; one couldn’t tell.

Either way, the blaster returned to its original target.

“ _You_ _’re from Black Sun, aren’t you? I told you. Mistake. Was mistake._ ” The words were strained. Desperate. _Painfully_ rasping and dry.

And Obi-Wan understood. Strinder was overwhelmed, starting to fear dying of thirst even more than the people coming after him. He was just a scared old man now. His droid had been the only one of the two with fight left, and even that had been painfully scraped together. “I’m not with the syndicate,” Obi-Wan tried. “I heard of your situation, and…”

“ _Are you a bounty hunter?_ ”

“Do I _look_ like a bounty hunter?”

The Ithorian seemed to honestly consider this, fraught as he seemed to be with exhaustion. His agitated, wide-set, dulled eyes regarded Obi-Wan’s lack of weaponry, his cautious, friendly smile. “ _Then who ARE you?_ ” The gun didn’t lower.

And a needle _snnnkked_ past Obi-Wan’s ear, burying itself in Strinder’s prodigious neck. The Ithorian sagged, giving his visitors a look of fury.

He slumped over with a crash.

“Well.” Obi-Wan sighed.

Bane shoved the droid off him entirely, coughing, holding a little tranquilizer gun. He staggered, but he stood, hunching. “Oh, yer _welcome_ Kenobi, for helpin’ ye not get shot in the face.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. “…He was trying to talk.” But he didn’t bother saying it loud enough to be heard. Try to convince Cad Bane of curiosity and mercy? That was going to go well. Instead, Obi-Wan examined Strinder’s crevice.

 _My word. He_ _’s just been… living on this ledge with the dead and the dark_. It was no small nook, and was well supplied with loot, but even so, it seemed to have been running out. A tiny lantern was back there, and containers of water with levels dangerously low. A sheet of paper was pinned to the wall, a mess of tunnels scrawled on its surface. Strinder had been mapping—likely trying to sneak away at an alternative exit, giving future hunters the slip.

A mistake, he’d said. Blowing up the wrong syndicate’s kin was a costly error, indeed. Costlier, perhaps, if innocents had been on that ship too. Bane hadn’t said whether they were, and likely didn’t find that important information.

Obi-Wan sighed. This wasn’t exactly giving him a feeling of accomplishment, all this uncertainty. At least it won him the right to not have his skull detonated. He lowered his head and chortled at how helpless he was, just a single wheeze of disbelief.

“What’re ye laughin’ at?” Bane grumbled.

Obi-Wan couldn’t answer. Truly, he had no idea.

It was easy enough, getting Strinder back out. He levitated their captive across to safe harbor. Bane swung back over—with the downed droid under one arm, interestingly, like he might make something of it. He immediately began securing his bounty, placing stun cuffs around Strinder’s thick wrists, then rifling through the man’s pockets. “Tch, nothin’ on him but detonators and fuses.”

Obi-Wan managed to inch his own way back to the entrance and safety, aching and straining, tearing up his fingers all over again from clinging to the wall.

The mines and the slain, they left behind them. It was too much for one Jedi to fix.

And soon, they reached the cave entrance. Obi-Wan had slung Strinder’s heavy, aging body around his sore shoulders, channeling the Force into his weary form and trudging onwards. The oncoming crushing heat and light after that shadowed labyrinth was both a relief and a threat.

But he stopped, right on the cusp of emerging into the day.

It was already too late.

Strinder woke up just in time to look around and babble into his four gags in fear, and for very good reason. A wall of Tuskens had congregated here, cloaked by the blinding sun. They might have been fifty strong: adult warriors all, spears and blasters gripped mercilessly by their sides. Straight-backed, hunger and war in their cloaked frames, they watched. Sun glinted off the goggles and beige linens that hid their bodies from the world.

The speeders were parked on the other side of this nomad battalion.

“ _Well_.” Obi-Wan vocalized, glancing back. His companion had frozen, not even blinking, free hand hovering over his guns in turn.

The Tuskens waited—they said nothing, not even a croak of their guttural tongue. It was almost as if they were gathered in some sort of vigil, their jewelry and bones rustling in the warm wind. Ire vibrated thick—a hatred nested deep in them, like a glacier, unknowable and unstoppable. Consuming.

Obi-Wan didn’t expect it as one by one, they began to drift apart, the crowd dividing into two: a parade column, a walkway to safety.

Bane looked stunned, though he seemed to read the signal well enough. He began to press through, free hand still resting anxiously on a blaster grip.

“They’re letting us pass?”

“…Seems that way.” It was like he didn’t want to speak or even breathe too loud. “Ah. Yeah. We killed the… dragon keepin’ them out of their sacred caves.” The grating in his voice clearly indicated that no one here ought to say anything to the contrary if they wanted to live.

Tusken hands strangled decorated staffs—like the raiders were collectively considering how much they’d like to do that to the necks passing by instead. Obi-Wan swallowed, tingling with adrenaline, wishing the thousandth time for his missing lightsaber. “You’re sure?” he whispered. His danger sense refused to settle.

“Oh, they’d love to kill us,” Bane agreed. “But sand people fear the krayts more than anythin’ else. Those recordings probably kept most of them away, until that war party we found in bits.”

 _So we have their respect now._ “You’ve spent a fair amount of time on Tatooine, haven’t you?”

Bane shrugged. “Once. Not my kind of huntin’, here.” He took the squirming Ithorian, loaded him on the speeder, then tied the droid salvage down too. The man kicked his stumpy legs a few times, but seemed to resign himself to his cargo fate.

Obi-Wan sighed. He turned and looked back one final time at the Tuskens.

“There’s mines,” he warned. They didn’t respond. Their silence was loathsome, cold.

“Yer wastin’ yer breath.” Bane mounted his bike.

“In the big cavern.” Obi-Wan kneeled in the sand, drew a tunnel, and then, a big cave. Knocked craters into it to show explosions. “If you go in there, it’s dangerous. Do you understand?”

They peered. They said nothing.

“Saddle up before they change their minds. They’re not known fer _patience_.”

“They have to be warned!”

Bane made a face as if he was being asked to eat dung. Then, he bore his teeth at the Tuskens before making a few choppy, brusque gestures with his hands. The way his fingers fluttered, it seemed a code.

They did not respond.

“Did you just…?”

“Maybe. Probably. This isn't my specialty; now get on yer kriffin’ bike, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sighed, left behind his drawing. He saddled up as requested. And indeed, as they fired up the speeders and began to leave, not a single spear flew to impale them.

All the same, Obi-Wan never saw those heads turn away, stares piercing through those darkened goggles and hoods. The Tuskens remained silent and still, as if gods observing a blasphemy they’d elected to ignore.

Then, finally, the distance and dunes swallowed them all.

* * *

Camp on the way back to Mos Eisley was a silent affair. Bane seemed oddly pleased though, a bit of a strut in his walk. After the fire and bedrolls were set up, the man even drew a pack of smokes from his pocket and offered one over. Obi-Wan stared at this gift for almost a full five seconds in shock. “…Aren’t you feeling friendly.”

“Ye want one or not?”

“No, thank you.”

The hunter shrugged, squinting almost like he was about to smile. And… oh dear. The way he put that cigarette to his own mouth was extremely suggestive, a knowing stare, a flash of dark tongue softly cushioning it between thin lips.

 _Ah, so we_ _’re back to trying to make me uncomfortable. Understood_. Obi-Wan grimaced at remembered warmth, turned away, and finished lighting the fire. A chuckle rose behind him, a low, rumbling noise.

In contrast to all this outright frivolity, Strinder was understandably quite sullen, cuffed to a rock formation nearby. He hadn’t been given food. A little later, once the fire was properly set, Obi-Wan decided to offer him one of the last rats in his pack—it still smelled fine, wrapped carefully in cloth.

Strinder’s limpid black stare was hopeful, measuring.

And Bane smacked the rat from Obi-Wan’s hand. It plopped into the dirt. “ _What is the matter with ye?_ ”

“He’s probably hungry!”

“He’s got four throats and can _concuss_ ye if he yells loud enough. Ye don’t take an Ithorian’s gags off to let him eat.” They glared at one another.

“This is inhumane.”

Bane squinted and motioned they move away from the fire, out of earshot from their prisoner. “Don’t t’ink,” he growled once they were, “that I don’t know ye’ll be wantin’ to talk to someone like him about yer collar.”

He was right. Naturally. “Look. He at least needs water in this environment.”

“He goes without for _one night_. Stop gettin’ yer bleedin’ Jedi heart in a fuss.” The hiss seemed final. “Now get to sleep. I don’t trust ye enough to take watch alone with the _bomb expert_.”

Obi-Wan felt all of his fight puff up in his chest, then leave in the space of a single breath. Right. He had to bide his time. And if Bane was going to stay awake all night? He might be making mistakes soon. “ _Fine_.”

He thought about picking the rat back up and cleaning it off, but he was almost too annoyed to be hungry. It took him some time to even attempt rest. Strinder’s glassy gaze kept following him, as if in contemplation.

The man must have noticed the collar. Perhaps the potential ally.

Obi-Wan’s clearly cut-rate sleeping roll was warm against the cooling sand. He marshaled himself, curled up and waiting in the dark, and pretended to start dropping off. He could hope Bane might lull, slip into a nap…

…Then he himself might steal the key to the cuffs…

…Ask to trade it to Strinder for a way out of his collar…

…Steal the bikes.

But Bane would expect it. All of it. Would have some kind of countermeasure. This was… a plan in progress.

Strinder eventually curled up as best as he could near the fire too, his cuffed arm suspended from the stones. He seemed to sigh ponderously, eyes closing as well.

The night pressed on. Obi-Wan kept his breathing as slow and even as he did in his trance states. He kept himself motionless.

Bane had insinuated himself onto one of the rocks like it was the world’s worst chair, scanning the horizon. Every now and again, he’d silently stand and slink around, keeping himself awake. Once or twice, he’d light another cigarette. The smoke they gave off was oddly floral and strange, not as offensive as Obi-Wan usually found them.

But what was most striking wasn’t the man’s bad habits—it was how Bane’s movements changed. After he clearly thought the others were asleep… he began to walk differently. Almost wincingly. His breath began falling strained and stressed. When he sat back down, it was only with the greatest, most hesitating care—and once, he went to his bag, rifled for some container. It was opened, the contents rubbed under his shirt, which preceded a soft hiss of relief.

Bane was in pain, Obi-Wan realized. He was injured, perhaps badly. From the droid attack? Or further back?

Unfortunately, this was working against the man slipping into a nap, because it seemed he was constantly uncomfortable. Lovely. Obi-Wan had almost given up, deciding it would be more worthwhile to get sleep than to watch for an eventuality that wasn’t going to come…

…when his speeder exploded.

He went rolling, flailing across the sand. Grit burned against his cheeks.

For a second, it was like he’d never left the caves, or even the assaulted courtroom on Coruscant—a bright fire at the edge of his sight, ears ringing, throat choking on smoke. He scrambled away from the wreckage. Strinder leapt to his feet, jerking at his cuffs, and bellowed a muffled shout.

Did that decrepit, old engine just…?

But Bane flew behind the rocks for cover. Guns were already high in his nimble hands as blaster bolts whizzed not an arm’s length to Obi-Wan’s left, puffing up a suffocating wave of sand. Obi-Wan fought free of his last blanket and rolled behind the rocks too—his captor hunkered low beside him—and they drew near as a powerful shot ripped a massive chunk from the stone over their heads.

Strinder was out in the open, chained still. He hollered desperately. Obi-Wan pointed. “Give me the key so he can get to safety!”

Bane shook his head, voice furious. “Whoever these idiots are who’re gunnin’ at us, they aren’t gonna shoot him.”

“ _How can you be sure?_ ”

“Why else would they be here?” He was wheezing, gaze grim. “They’re bounty hunters too, here for the karkin’ reward! And he’s worth four times as much alive!”

That was when Obi-Wan noticed green ooze smearing the stones beside Bane.

Blood. Dripping. Pooling. There was a piece of speeder shrapnel lodged in his side from the explosion now, an ugly dagger of chance.

_Oh._

The man panted and gritted his teeth, ignoring the grievous injury and peeking around cover, clearly gauging the angle of shots to find their attackers. Obi-Wan followed suit. And Strinder met their eyes with his own, a silent, frightened plea as he hunkered, one hand pointing helpfully into the distance at where the shots originated—clearly he’d decided he was better off with the enemies he knew.

The sound of small blasters began to pepper the desert night again, now that the first volley had put the camp on its back foot. Small whizzes of heat and light resounded off the stones. They left scorch marks and streaks of glass.

All Obi-Wan could do was crouch and keep himself small. “The ridge on the right! Probably pinning us so a second group can get close to our flank!”

It only took seconds for the attackers to validate that assessment. A helmet rose over the hill on their back left, painted, dented yellow metal. A massive man bearing a rifle was soon revealed—and as he raised his gun, he charged them in full heavy armor. Twin blaster shots from the east laid down cover fire for his advance, forcing Obi-Wan and Bane to scramble gracelessly away from where they were crouching instead of preparing for the onslaught.

But as they were forced into even tighter crag for cover, Obi-Wan reacted on instinct. He pushed out with the Force.

The juggernaut missed a step. He ate sand, rolling defensively, but five blaster shots lit up his side anyhow—Bane’s aim was unerringly true. The attacker didn’t get back up.

Yet Bane would pay for his adroit gunslinging. Someone screamed bloody murder out in the dark, and one of the shooters in the east managed a lucky blast. A bright burst of red fire lit up the corner of Obi-Wan’s eyes. His captor let out a grunt of pain and sank down again into the rocks.

A shoulder shot. The smell of charred leather made eyes sting. Bane seemed to still be functioning, but he cradled his injured arm to his ribs—carefully around his shrapnel injury—and holstered a gun he could no longer properly hold on that side. “I’ve counted maybe five of ‘em,” he hissed, coughing. “No sniper.”

Yes—Obi-Wan agreed. There seemed to be an eastern two who had covered the rifleman, and perhaps two or three on the northern ridge who had access to both small arms and heavier, ranged devices. Not an optimistic situation.

Though not the _worst_ he’d been in.

Another bomb detonation rattled the rocks, then another. Strinder hunkered in a ball, warbling, barely getting missed. It felt like retaliation for the dead hunter.

“They’re gettin’ sloppy,” Bane growled. “Emotional.”

“They’ve still got us,” Obi-Wan snapped, watching green blood mat the man’s coat.

“Didn’t say they didn’t.”

“Listen: do you have my saber?”

A long glare. “Ye didn’t have it on ye when I got ye, and I didn’t have time to _look_.”

“I mean it! I could deflect the blaster bolts from us _easily_ so we can move!”

“I’m tellin’ the truth! Kriff! Ye Jedi aren’t worth a pot of piss without yer little light swords!” Bane returned fire over the rock to the east, then sat back down, laughing humorlessly, eyes sagging closed for a moment.

A pang of alarm tingled in Obi-Wan’s chest. “…You should deactivate my collar, just in case.”

What responded was the most cheerful smile Obi-Wan had ever seen Bane make, which said more about the blood loss than anything else. “I die, _you_ die. Maybe ye should stop bitchin’ about yer saber and start helpin’.”

“The only weapon you’ve given me is a knife, and my blaster is gone!”

Despite the glazing in those crimson eyes, something vicious and keen still burned there. “Then put out the fire, and _we_ _’ll see how well they shoot then._ ”

Obi-Wan paused, considered, and did just that, reaching out with the Force. A tide of sand suffocated the light. The world went blind. Behind clouds, the twin moons were feeble and weak.

The blaster fire suddenly paused, as if confused. They likely had nightvision gear, of course, but—

“Now! While they’re switchin’ over!” Bane got to his feet and started to run. He swayed dangerously, tilting, but it was clear he was making his way to the remaining bike—his expression so charged up and mean it was like he was going to fight the entire galaxy. Obi-Wan bolted forward too after as the sound of multiple speeder engines suddenly began to rev in the distance.

The enemy’s tactics were evolving. They didn’t have much time.

Bane paused to duck down to Strinder, freeing him from the rocks and re-securing the cuffs. The Ithorian gurgled gratefully. But then, a baleful, shrieking cackle rang through the night, twining with the whining roar of the approaching bikes.

And a rocket exploded dead center in the camp.

Obi-Wan hit the sand, concussive force flinging him down, fire kissing his face. For a moment, he blacked out.

When he came to, he was the only one to do so.

The rock formation had cracked and toppled, destroying any chance of future cover. A good portion of it had fallen directly onto Strinder.

Unable to see, these foolish, reckless hunters had clearly just decided, _kriff it_. They’d tag _everything_.

Obi-Wan gaped, ears ringing and collar unbearably tight. He channeled the Force to move the boulders aside, the heavy, crushing rocks. From the roaring in the air, speeders were nearly on top of them.

He rolled Strinder over. No. No, the man was… he was dead. Dead! Dust had turned his red skin pale. His dazed black eyes looked up into nothing.

Bane was face up nearby, flat on his back, somehow utterly missed by the rock collapse. The concussive blast had been too much with his other injuries though—he was wheezing, eyes closed, mouth hanging open.

Obi-Wan did the only thing he could do. He levitated Bane and Strinder both, piling them onto the back of the remaining speeder. Then he leapt into the pilot’s chair, revving the engine and shooting away just as blaster fire lit up the sand right where he’d been. Cackles and crows rose madly behind him as the engines neared.

He fled across the desert. And the hunters, they followed.

Something like a shriek and a whistle pierced the night again. Another rocket exploded a dune just in front of his flight, causing him to swerve hard left. Bane nearly tumbled off, but Obi-Wan caught his limp form in time, pulling him back, steering with one hand.

The bike bucked and wove and finally evened out.

A glance behind. Five speeders were on their tail, headlamps burning white.

He did the only thing he could do. He turned off his own lights like a suicidal madman and plunged headfirst into the pitch dark, utterly invisible now, and utterly blind—his night vision goggles had been on his own ride, melted into the desert floor.

He just cranked the engine into its highest gear. He reached out with the Force.

And he saw nothing. Nothing. Everything inside was screaming. Hitting a boulder at this speed would have turned them all into sludge.

Then a warning, a tickling came to his mind.

Obi-Wan banked, skimmed past a towering sandstone formation by inches.

The hunters, whoever they were, started to lag. He could hear it. They were confused, startled by their prey’s sudden madness, and unwilling to trust anything but the evidence of their eyes. He must have gotten too far out for their heat tracking. Chasing by sound alone was throwing them off. So he kept riding hard for minutes on end, engine almost overheating, until he couldn’t hear his pursuers anymore, until he thought he was going to fall apart.

Gone. They were gone.

He slowed, quieting the bike, breathing so hard his lungs hurt. But before him was the barest of towering definitions against the black—an overhang. A good defense against an infrared scan. Guardable. Semi-hidden.

He parked, nestled in its protective embrace, and took stock. Somewhere out there, bikes were still sounding. Some were getting closer, but then, the noises would fade again.

Yes, he’d lost them for the moment.

He was also utterly lost himself. The only one who knew this desert was currently bleeding all over the speeder cushions and Strinder’s body. Fortunately, Bane wasn’t the heaviest man Obi-Wan had ever lugged, even if he was pure muscle—gently settled on the dust, the bounty hunter struggled, made a soft, pained noise. Mostly unconscious, he remained.

Obi-Wan got his companion’s bag free, knowing that’s where all the good supplies were. He found a little flashlight and immediately put it in between his teeth, starting to work on some semblance of first aid. Then he found Bane’s night vision goggles and made even faster work.

The shrapnel had gone deep, and though it might have missed vital organs, it _hadn_ _’t_ missed an artery. Blood seeped thick. Bane was deeply fortunate there was a container of bacta spray in the supplies—it would now save his life.

 _And mine_.

Best not to think about how long it had been since the last detonation delay had been issued to the collar, wasn’t it?

Bane only truly reacted when the shrapnel was yanked from between his ribs. He gasped and struggled blindly. The bacta went in thick. Obi-Wan used it all, then applied as much pressure as he could, green blood soaking his hands, his sleeves.

Finally, the wound began to staunch. The bacta worked its magic. He bandaged the area, and Bane began to breathe steadier, if faint and weak. The blaster shot to his shoulder was also relatively easy to treat, mostly absorbed by armor under the coat—probably had just badly jarred the limb and left a light burn. Obi-Wan didn’t see any other major injuries from that night, but… well, clearly, the man could hide a lot. One needed to confirm.

Bane’s leather jacket came off easily. His torn and bloodied shirt underneath did too—probably unsalvageable; best just to get rid of it for now.

One just had to breathe a low hiss, seeing the truth.

Bane was a mess. An utter mess. There wasn’t an inch of his torso and arms that wasn’t discolored by bruises, huge ones, mottled and dark and ugly. All of it overlaid a patchwork of old scars. These weren’t the kind of wounds that could have fractured _critical_ bones, or shut down kidneys, if Duros had anything analogous to kidneys… but it was clear they had been inflicted with the intent to make him _suffer_.

_The prison?_

The guards had probably visited him several times, punched and kicked him until they’d worn themselves out… a punishment exacted until they felt the lesson had been learned, though it never would be. Bane could have likely fought back. But the odds of taking advantage of such a situation, in a cell with no way out—especially if the guards had been _smart_ —were low. Even disabling someone for a hostage would have gotten the man killed against the whole of the prison security force.

He likely had just taken it and bided his time.

Something inside Obi-Wan numbed, an angry, dull pain in his heart. Bane wasn’t good and right, but neither was that. Digging in the medicine pouch where he’d gotten the expensive bacta delivery device, he found the container the man had been using earlier. Some kind of medicinal paste: at least, that’s what the label said in Huttese. Bacta would have made much shorter work of all these injuries… _but when you don_ _’t have anything, you take what you can get. Understandable_. Obi-Wan sighed, then began to apply the salve to Bane’s skin, softly working it in, letting its sharp plant tang fill its nose. His fingertips went numb in the work.

Reducing suffering. He just couldn’t help it, could he?

He then rolled up the bloody shirt and jacket and stuffed them under Bane’s head. There. That was all one could do. He chose to reduce his own suffering now. He used up the rest of the jar on his own awful bruises and the stinging burns on his face.

Now they just needed time. Bane shouldn’t be moved… and they were lost.

Obi-Wan put his back to the stones and curled up, keeping back the cold desert night. Surprised, he realized he was starting to shiver. But no fire was worth the risk.

Bane finally made a croak, perhaps twenty minutes later. Obi-Wan glanced, fully alert. The man was looking at his bandages, soaked with green—one hand came up, touching the wrappings, like he wasn’t certain they were real. And his words… they were so thin with exhaustion, they almost seemed to vanish like morning dew. “…Patched me up…?” He coughed.

“Well. I do like having my head attached to my shoulders.”.

Bane didn’t respond. He just lay there, glazed stare up at the stars—a peculiar shine in the dark, a reflective orange. One hand felt out the bundled clothes under his head, then the greased medicine over his aching body. His brow furrowed with some unknowable thought.

Obi-Wan sighed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like it very much if you could reset my detonation timer again.”

“…Hm.” Bane lifted his gauntlet with some effort, pressed the buttons, and spoke the commands. The collar beeped and buzzed happily.

“Thanks.”

The man said nothing. He just seemed to drift in and out. And then, many minutes later, Obi-Wan was startled to hear another croak. “He dead?”

“…Yes. I have him on the back of the bike.”

“Those karkin’ stupid amateurs. _They_ dead?”

“No. Still looking. I lost them, but they’re out there.” The softest of enemy engine whirs floated towards them on the breeze, but then they faded.

For now.

This was met with a contemplative noise. A burble rose up into the night that was, quite frankly, unbelievable: “We have to go.”

“You shouldn’t even get up.”

Bane coughed, wheezing in an excruciating way as he forced himself to sit and grabbed his coat.

“Stop moving! You’ll open the wound, and we don’t have any more bacta.”

“Kenobi… those idiots are givin’ up on looking right now. They’re gonna make camp. Can’t find us in the dark.” He clutched his side, teeth gritted. “In the mornin’, though… they’ll wait all the way along the road to Mos Eisley. Wait for us. We’d have to be very lucky to get through without gettin’ rolled again. _And I won_ _’t rely on luck_.”

“I don’t know the way back!” Obi-Wan shook his head, holding his palms to the sky.

“I do.” Bane shuddered, weakly lifting his own hand up to the stars. “Ye see that?”

Obi-Wan squinted. “See _what?_ ”

A finger traced a line down. “Womp Rat’s Tail. Local constellation. Mos Eisley from here’ll be at the base, give or take a few degrees. Follow it, and ye’ll see the lights.”

Obi-Wan tightened his jaw, shot with adrenaline, and pulled Bane’s night-vision goggles down over his eyes. “Alright. Fine. If you say so. I’ll get us back.”

“Good.” Bane struggled to stand, and Obi-Wan came up, lifting him from his uninjured side. Bane seemed to realize it was no longer a secret how bad off he was, and wasn’t bothering to hide it anymore—the wincing tremble in his frame was deeply apparent. But he accepted help.

The scent of leather and gun oil. Memories, there.

This situation had so many things wrong with it.

Obi-Wan found himself shaking again, the strange laughter that had possessed him back in the caves.

“ _What?_ ” Bane’s peeved growl broke the quiet.

“Nothing.” Obi-Wan helped him to the bike, shaking his head. Then he retrieved their supplies, bundled them up, and loaded them too. This time, he was even given the opportunity to tie down their unfortunate Ithorian friend. Obi-Wan silently apologized to him, closing his eyes—the only gesture of respect for the dead he was going to be afforded today. Then, he clambered onto the front. Bane was in no condition to drive, of course. “I hope, at least, _this_ speeder isn’t prone to a dying engine.”

“Yeah…” Bane’s voice was dry and distant. “That other one’s comin’ out of the reward money…”

Snorting, Obi-Wan started the bike. A soft slump slid against his back. His companion’s breathing was harsh—it was likely that wound _had_ reopened. Arms folded tersely then around his waist, an obligatory dependency so as not to get thrown at high speed… a distant echo of remembered intimacy.

Tightening his jaw, Obi-Wan elected not to think much on it.

Quietly, he pointed them both towards the constellation on the horizon.


	6. A Quiet Den

Two men and one sputtering sand-speeder arrived in Mos Eisley just as the suns began lightening the sky. One had skin the color of the oceans, the kind this world only saw in its dreams. The other had eyes to match.

The townsfolk marked them both as bounty hunters. They steered clear.

Obi-Wan sucked in the desperate air of this settlement, exhausted, almost in disbelief that they’d arrived at all. Bane had maintained consciousness and managed to hobble on through sheer force of spite, getting their bounty cashed in. Then it was a stagger to the traders, the annoyed speeder lender, and finally, the guest houses.

If anything, Mos Eisley’s lodgings were as dim and disagreeable as their cantinas. So much heat lent the population quite the preference for cave-like shelters, just like in the wilderness. Bad art hung crooked on the walls.

Exhausted to the point of vertigo, sore, and starving, Obi-Wan just fell face down on his bed. Bane was in the corner of his eye at the other end of the room, tending to his own injuries with fresh bacta. He used a lot, for ribs likely cracked, for… everything else. A small amount was spared when he was done, which Obi-Wan sprayed in his own ear canals—still ringing, marred by grenades, rockets, and pain.

Slowly, the tinnitus began to fade.

But that was the last thing he remembered considering before simply tipping into nothingness.

He didn’t know how long he slept. When he awoke, his tongue was thick and fuzzy, head pounding. Dehydration and hunger drove him to rise.

New supply boxes were in the corner. Bane must have sent for them… the refresher door was shut, marking the man’s current location. Obi-Wan fell into the rations and water with a vengeance, then returned to sleep for a while.

When he awoke again, he was… better. Not healed. Still in a world of aching. But better.

Bane was silent by the shaded window, peering through the slats—oddly, this wasn’t the silence of his usual way, as if he wanted to bite the head off of anyone who looked at him wrong. He more seemed… thoughtful. He also had something in his hands, a jar of some sort that he seemed to be contemplating.

It looked like he’d caught the sound of stirring, his eyes glinting in the dim room.

Obi-Wan said nothing. He needed the refresher before experiencing any more of _that_. So, he went. It afforded him the chance to truly collect himself. In the mirror, he saw a face tight and red from sunburn and explosions, hair still gritty with sand. Stubble had begun poking roughshod around his chin… and his eyes, they held an unsettling gleam. Not exhaustion. Not hunger.

A certain wildness.

Uneasiness welled.

The rest of his body throbbed. It hadn’t forgotten the flight from Coruscant, or being battered and questioned, and it hadn’t been ready for this adventure. Scrapes. Aches. All of it at least appeared to be scabbing cleanly or turning the ugly yellow-purple of healing. That was good. The only thing he desperately wished for was a bath. But when he turned on the washwater spout… it belched, then spat yellow sludge.

The sink did not. He used that as best he could.

Leaving the refresher found Bane just where he’d been left. Those red marbles glanced over a second time. How outright sociable of him.

“Kenobi,” the man said, voice dull.

“Hm?” What did he want _now?_ A food run? A go at tormenting his prisoner?

He did neither thing. He simply held out the jar he’d been turning over.

Obi-Wan took it, brow furrowing. Huttese on the label declared it as containing more medicinal paste: a fresh container.

“Use it on yerself.” The clipped command seemed quite definitive. “Yer still beat to shit from Coruscant.”

“…Because of you and your hired help.”

“ _Just use the karkin_ _’ paste._ ”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to make of this little flash of generosity. The man just huddled himself away in that chair again, peering out at the street.

There was little privacy here, but the claustrophobic refresher, stinking from the gunk in the pipes, was hardly better. So, deciding, Obi-Wan just sat on his bed’s edge and removed his shirt. Fresh, the paste actually seemed quite effective. It was chilling and soft, seeping into his skin like rain into the hungry earth—it may not have been bacta, but he shuddered with relief anyhow. Even his scabbing, throbbing fingers quieted.

Sighing, relaxing, he rolled his eyes over the scarred walls. This place was truly bottom-grade. But… hm. He clearly remembered all the artwork hanging careless and tilted before he’d fallen asleep. Now it was perfectly level.

Odd. Why would _Bane_ bother…?

Honestly. The more he was around this Duros, the less sense the man made.

Obi-Wan grimaced and kept working. The worst spots on his back were where he’d been slammed with the batons—powerful aching prevented him from fully reaching his arms around, but straining, he did the best he could.

“Tch.” He could hear his captor getting up. “Lay down.” Obi-Wan froze, suddenly palming the jar like he might heft it as a weapon due to its weight. There was a dissatisfied grumble. “Gimme the medicine, ye dirt-brained idiot. Ye aren’t any good to me like that.”

Obi-Wan scrunched up his face. “You want to… help out.”

“Ye want those bruises makin’ ye hunch for the next week?” The man plucked the medicine from his grip. Obi-Wan didn’t move, and he certainly didn’t lie down, but Bane didn’t seem like he was going to bother asking again. That quick, efficient, and perfunctory touch dabbed the spots where he couldn’t reach with the soothing balm—deft fingertips shocks to the skin. “There. Done.” The jar was tossed by his thigh. “Now stop actin’ like I’m gonna jump ye; I’m not actually _interested_ in some pathetic Jedi tail that can’t even fight back.”

Embarrassed heat lit up Obi-Wan’s spine, warring with the salve’s soothing cold. He made sort of a croaking noise, but then decided words weren’t really the best thing, so he just put on his shirt. Bane had returned to his window by that point, boots kicked up on the table.

 _Now_ he was silent in the way that meant he might bite someone’s head off.

“…Thanks.” Perhaps Obi-Wan shouldn’t have bothered. But… still.

The man’s shoulders made an uncomfortable-looking snap up in reply, like even the smallest, most confused gratitude made him allergic. He said nothing.

“So you’ve got money now.” Obi-Wan reclined on the bed, letting his relieved muscles finally go slack.

“…Yeah.”

“…Then what’s next for this _illustrious_ partnership?” He couldn’t help but skim his fingers under his collar while saying that, feeling the bitter sting of chafing. A little of the medicinal cream soothed that, at least.

“This money,” Bane said, “Is runnin’ out fast. Black Sun wasn’t so happy we delivered Strinder dead. Didn’t pay near as much.” He held up his fingers, ticking items off some imaginary list. “A lot of my equipment’s gettin’ replaced. Needed food and water stores. More medical supplies, and proper bacta. The fine fer _yer_ destroyed speeder.”

The way he said it suddenly made Obi-Wan pause. This… almost felt like an _invoice_ delivered for his upkeep. Was… was Bane thinking about the deal he and _Hardeen_ had supposedly struck over sabacc? To do this job for 50/50?!

The idea of Bane paying his prisoner seemed ludicrious, the idea of him _justifying_ why he wasn’t seemed even more so, and truly, Obi-Wan was too baffled to ask—not to mention too wise about how much backlash that might afford him anyway.

But then Bane said something so patently insane it derailed even that consideration.

“After that…” the man was rumbling along. “Fuel for the ship for a few weeks is in there. Maybe enough to pay off sources for the next job.”

“…The… _next_ job?”

“Better one. Sounds like despite Strinder’s… unfortunate mortality, Black Sun at least is happy enough to overlook Dooku’s rumor-mongerin’. So I found out... they want an asset on Felucia. We’re goin’ to secure it.”

“ _Are you serious?_ ”

Bane cricked his neck around, as if he didn’t see the problem and found the outrage a bit much. “Of course I’m serious. The client’s payin’ double.”

Obi-Wan rose from the bed, then sat in the chair opposite, leaning forward, angry. “Do you _really_ intend on keeping me collared up forever, dragging me to bounty jobs, like some kind of captive _partner?_ Torturing me when it suits you, and playing sabacc when it doesn’t? Am I working off some imaginary debt?”

The toothpick slid out of Bane’s mouth and into the space between his finger and thumb. One couldn’t help but remember the time he’d driven such a thing into a Rodian’s lip over a minor verbal jab, but he simply poked the air with it today, punctuating his response. “Yer mouthy, Kenobi.” He sneered. “But if ye really want to know… yeah. That’s what ye are now: working off me rottin’ in solitary for over a month. Workin’ off the fortune of credits ye made sure Dooku’d never pay me and all the opportunity lost from that goin’ wrong. Workin’ off gettin’ on my every last nerve! And when I t’ink yer done, maybe I’ll be nice, and I’ll ransom ye off to the Republic to pay the rest of what I feel I’m owed!”

“Fine.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms. “So why don’t we talk about our terms.”

Bane coiled. “ _Our_ terms?! No. Mine. If ye push it, I _will_ blow yer head off.”

Well… after all this… that remained to be seen, didn’t it? “No, no, I get that. You’ve made escaping from my position or attacking you very difficult. But you seem to want me to work with you—willingly!—for the foreseeable future. And you saw how well this collar operated under pressure. Let’s say we get attacked again, you once more become indisposed, and you don’t wake up in time to make sure it doesn’t detonate. Or perhaps we get stranded in a situation demanding utter silence… a _real_ monster in some cave… but _beep!_ ”

Bane’s lip curled. “I’m not removin’ it.”

“Of course not.” Obi-Wan drummed his fingers on the table. “You want that security. Who wouldn’t, against a Jedi? But surely you can remotely access the device if I tried to escape?”

“…This is why they call ye that dumb _Negotiator_ name, isn’t it?” A sneer belied what Bane thought of that.

“…Perhaps.”

“Well, stick it up yer arse. No. Don’t need ye smashin’ my equipment to buy time while ye make a break for it.”

“You and I both know that would only get me so far—you’d just track me. And I can’t remove this thing myself without triggering the kill switch. Drop the check-in babysitting! You _know_ that if we’re to work together, you’re going to need to extend at least a little trust to me here.”

“And why would I do somethin’ like that?” Another mocking sneer.

“Because if you don’t, I’m not doing... whatever it is you have planned here.” Obi-Wan stood, feeling himself grow grim. “I don’t like slave collars, Bane. _They do not make me feel cooperative_.”

The toothpick snapped. “So what? Yer gonna sit useless in the corner then? Motivatin’ shocks or not?”

“You can shock me until I pass out. I still won’t cooperate. The Zygerrians figured that out _very_ quickly! So if you don’t loosen this collar and those restrictions, you can do these jobs less than half as fast—because you’ll need to drag me by the _ankle_ from place to place. Alternatively, you can ransom me off right now. Those are your options.”

_Or kill me._

Obi-Wan didn’t say it. He was starting to suspect that truly wasn’t on the table, for whatever reason.

They stared at each other a long minute. And near the end of it, Obi-Wan wondered how much weight the man was actually giving to just shooting him and being done with it. But Bane merely drew his hands together, fingers drumming. His lips curled. Disgust. Calculation. “…24-hour verifications. So _don’t_ t'ink ye can just put a bolt in my back and run. But I’ve got a condition too, _Negotiator_.”

Relief passed through Obi-Wan like the soothing balm on his spine. These were small things. Tiny concessions. But every one he won made the way for bigger chips in the armor of his captivity. “And what’s that?”

“Ye _ever_ try to barter yer compliance again with me, or ye use this deal to try and escape? I’ll make yer life _miserable_. The places we’re goin’, yer not gonna be able to run far. Ye don’t jump when I tell ye to? I’ll put these restrictions right back, and a lot of pain alongside. Ye got that?”

Obi-Wan sat again in the chair, quite pleased, though he was careful not to let it show. “It’s a deal, then.” He offered his hand to shake.

Bane did not take it. He remained as wound as a venomous snake warding off an intruder to its lair. However, his head tilted in agreement. “Yeah…” he growled, unblinking, his fevered brain deep in its calculations. “…Sure, Jedi. Yeah. We’ve got a deal.”

* * *

The day passed, and a new one dawned.

After that, Obi-Wan had expected this bone-dry world would be cast forever behind them. That was clearly what Bane wanted. They’d found new work; they’d resupplied; they’d begun healing. The man’s gear was packed and ready, as well as the little burned-out droid shell—which he’d evaluated extensively over the night, creating a list of items needed for its reprogramming and repair.

Now, his pace about the room was a pointed, impatient stalk.

So Obi-Wan decided to take an extended refresher trip: just to needle him, really.

Again, the shower gurgled and stank. So that wasn’t some fluke. Just great. Well, time to take his dear, sweet minutes washing even more thoroughly from the sink, then.

And when he emerged, Bane was… asleep.

How strange. The man hadn’t even undressed. It appeared as if he’d sat back on his bed while waiting, and then… just… _utterly_ _shut down_. His chin was buried in his chest. His eyes twitched already with dreams.

Well then. Perhaps it’d be best just to leave him like that, switched off like a light.

 _Did he sleep at all last night?_ Obi-Wan realized he wasn’t sure. He’d gone to bed while Bane had been lurking at the window, and woken up to much the same. But after their restless sojourn in the desert, he’d assumed… well… operating on four hours rest while trekking endless klicks across the scorching sands, then almost bleeding out…

Who _wouldn_ _’t_ want to sleep after that? Who _could_ resist it?

Yet here Bane was, as if he hadn’t dreamed in days, his body done. He didn’t even stir when his name was spoken aloud.

Obi-Wan considered him for a long moment, watched that chest slowly rise, slowly fall. The man's face was slack, peaceful despite the battle-marks, those shallow scars near his lips and eyes. Air made the faintest whistle through his teeth. Every so often, his fingers twitched, as if perhaps they played some invisible tune.

Or he just had an itchy trigger finger.

But either way, he seemed quite stone-deaf to the world. Good. Time to test the perimeter. Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t a great distance he’d likely be able to venture, so it was best to consider his options quickly—and he did, as the door slid behind him and he entered the shadowed hall. A droid had been at the front of the establishment. The owners of this place had given it a decent hospitality routine before leaving it in charge of the rooms; it might be badgered into allowing a guest to freely use any available comms if it was approached the right way.

Especially, perhaps, if it was made to feel its guests were unhappy on account of the broken bathing situation. Perhaps it might even briefly grant leeway to one marked as a slave—with no money—in a way that many of the organics in Hutt space would not. Droids typically cared about fulfilling their programming, not getting paid off…

And yet, not twenty paces down the corridor, Obi-Wan had to stop.

 _Beep_. The collar thrummed against his voicebox, a stern warning. He didn’t have to look down to know the light had flickered orange.

With a few steps back, it buzzed peaceably in encouragement.

That couldn’t be right…! He’d gone farther than this in the cave earlier, and—

 _Beep_ , the collar reminded him unpleasantly as he stepped forward again. He quickly backed himself up once more.

Bane had to have reset the perimeter variable.

 _What an absolute_ _…!_ Obi-Wan forced his own air out in a calming whoosh, as if, should he do that, it would convince him to relax.

It did not.

Alright. Very well. He was stuck; sleep-deprived or not, Bane wasn’t one for stupid mistakes. At least this collar hadn’t defaulted to zapping its host for moving out of its programmed radius.

That was one valuable bit of intel learned.

Now, his options were thus: go back to the room like a Padawan pretending they hadn’t broken curfew, or remain outside, perhaps having a seat in the nearby windowed alcove.

Obi-Wan chose the latter. It felt _rebellious_.

A little table with a single chair was there. The window was extremely small, the glass scorching to the touch as he pulled back the curtains—but despite the bright light, it projected a comfortable warmth.

Sorely, he wished for a bit of tea. Perhaps the kind Master Yoda preferred. He drank his water instead, tangy from the metal container. It would do.

Losing himself to meditation for an hour was easy enough. At some point, he drifted off again, only realizing what he’d done when he started to awaken—how unlike him! The sun had stolen over him far more extensively than he’d realized. Blinking, startled, and suddenly dizzy, he drew the curtains shut once more. And woozy, he finally returned to the room, knowing he needed more food and water.

Perhaps he wasn’t as recovered as he’d thought. The desert was dangerous in how it crept up on a man.

Bane was still in bed, fully prone, rolled onto his side now. His eyes were closed and his breathing even. The windows remained shuttered and dark. If he’d awoken and been troubled at all by his pet Jedi’s disappearance, well, it didn’t show.

As Obi-Wan settled on his own mattress with rations and drink, Bane stretched in his sleep. A soft string of words fell from his lips, something in likely Durese: “ _Dak_ _’u… shan_.”

Perhaps, from how his hips unconsciously ground before he turned to re-settle, this was a term of endearment. A soft sigh followed.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what that made him feel, but discomfort was certainly a part. Perhaps it was best he go to sleep too, so he wouldn’t have to observe any more of his companion’s… restlessness.

The stale air hung cool, and yet, somehow, he could still sense the blazing sun just outside these walls, a threatening blanket. Dust floated sparkling in the thin light that got past the ancient shutters.

It felt as if the universe was suspended on its axis, a weighted cloak, time sticky.

Slowly, his eyes closed.

Bane’s breathing was a slow, soft metronome.

 _Just_ _… a short nap…_

And so, the soporific desert afternoon lulled him down again to dreams.

…

…

The jungle, fresh and wild, was blossoming in his nose. He knew this place… knew…

No, wait. He wasn’t… wasn’t in a jungle. When he opened his eyes, he was in space instead, an endless void, drifting, the floral scent fading. A ship…? He was strapped in a seat. All he could smell now was acrid, stale air… as if life support was starting to fail, but…!

No. As he blinked, this melted away too.

Some corridor was where he was. Dark. Dusty. Long and old, made of stone. The lights were inactive, as if power was down and the backup hadn’t activated. Yet, there was still a faint glow to this place. Slits in the rock beamed an eerie red light.

He crept, entire body tight and engaged, feet agile and silent.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, but the danger here, he sensed, was very real.

Something was missing. An ache inside. An incorrect weight to his body.

Something precious was gone.

That’s what he was looking for, he intuited. That had to be it.

Lightsaber…?

No… no, not that.

Quickly, he snuck on, tasting the dust of this place on his tongue, rolling his steps in just such a way that his passage would be unmarked. A locked door came up on his right. Obi-Wan reached for a device in his bag, quickly plugging it into the lock’s access port and letting it consider the possibilities.

But his hands… they weren’t quite right, not in how they moved, how dexterously they responded. The fingers were too long inside these gloves. The smells weren’t right here either; _far_ too much information seemed to be resonating from his tongue, from a tingle under his eyes: air current and staleness and the sharp tang of nearby electronics. Even the lock, it _glimmered_ in an odd way, faint heat waves near the circuits.

Agitated, and yet set on his task, Obi-Wan let that simmer in his mind. But not for long. The door swished open, and a grim satisfaction welled in his core.

But someone was waiting behind it.

Count Dooku: resplendent in his finest cape. The man _smiled_ in that haunting, soul-freezing way of his that had seen so many to their deaths in this war.

He advanced.

Obi-Wan sprung back, reaching to his hips for his lightsaber, but he found a thermal detonator instead. He didn’t even try for a second opinion, not for a Sith Lord. Flinging the explosive, he pivoted to flee—

Dooku simply caught the detonator mid-air, and the light flickered inactive in an eerie wave of the Force. That extended hand flicked its wrist, and Obi-Wan was in the air in an instant, breath choking in his throat, windpipe crushing in agony.

Spots exploded in his eyes as he clawed at nothing.

Dooku was going to kill him, and by the faint heat shine around that pale skin, the man's heartbeat wasn’t even going to elevate while he was doing it.

“Running is your worst option,” the count promised.

Obi-Wan sat up choking on his own saliva, wheezing and gasping. He hugged himself, sensing his own body, reassurance that all was normal and well.

A nightmare. That was all.

Nothing glimmered its faint heat signatures anymore. The air was quite dull and uninformative on his tastebuds.

 _That wasn_ _’t normal,_ he realized, free from the stone-simple logic of dreams. _I wasn_ _’t myself. I… don’t think I was… human_.

Was he…?

He hazarded a glance to the other bed.

It was empty now.

Softly, he breathed, re-centering himself and trying to put the dream from his mind.

He wasn’t going back to sleep. Rolling up off the mattress, he pulled on his shirt and shoes and decided to return to his windowed alcove in the hallway for a while. This room was dim in a way he didn’t particularly care for, the day having given way to night once more. Perhaps it was just his vivid memory of the dream’s dark corridors that unsettled him so.

But the moment he made to stand, another doorway swished open across from him: the refresher. Bane stared, blinking owlishly in his undershirt and trousers, eyes gleaming. His bare soles and spindly toes were soundless on the cool stone floor. “What?” he grumbled, voice thick and dehydrated.

“I… just woke up,” Obi-Wan said softly, rousing himself. “Strange dreams.”

“Yeah?” Bane’s gaze narrowed.

“…Yes.”

The man let that rattle around in his brain for a second, then shrugged. “Whatever.” He padded to his chair, turned on a lamp, and sat with an impatient sigh, messing with the jar of healing paste again.

Ah. He resented this unplanned day of recovery, didn’t he?

_The desert crept up on him too._

Bane’s hands held a mild tremor as he unscrewed the medicine’s lid. Still, he managed. Then he pulled off his undershirt as if utterly uncaring of his audience and started seeing to his injuries again.

Force. He was so... thin. Obi-Wan had seen before, but not in the light—still all whipcord muscle, but ribs clearly defined now. And this was not a particularly deft handling, either. Half of the bruises along his spine still weren’t quite in reach, courtesy of his swollen limbs and back.

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling too alike. And he just… couldn’t leave this alone, could he?

“Give me the jar,” he muttered.

Bane gave him a look, holding that canister like a rabid mongrel in a garbage can clutching its dinner.

“Oh, what? You think I’m going to jump _you_ now? I can’t do anything. I’m offering to help.” It was like the word was a foreign concept, despite Bane literally performing the exact same gesture less than a day past. “You assisted me with my back. I’ll repay the favor. Don’t overthink it.”

“Oh?” The word was a challenge more than a question. “Maybe I don’t really want ye touchin’ me, eh?”

Exasperated, Obi-Wan settled himself. “You know I could have hurt you back in the desert. I did not.”

“That doesn’t have anythin’ to do with it.” Bane sneered and kept struggling along, but the more he tried forcing his arm to twist to reach his spine, the more his hand shook. He kept trying anyway, clearly in agony, until finally, he managed to drop a glob of the paste on the floor, which he glared at with a powerful resentment. “…Fine. _Fine!_ If yer so set on actin’ like yer the nicest, most _et_ _’ical_ idiot in the Outer Rim, be my guest.” He didn’t hand over the jar so much as threw it. Obi-Wan palmed it easily, not letting any of the medicine slop out.

He edged near.

Hunkered in that chair, razor-wire tight, Bane seemed set on providing the experience of touching a rock. Barely any give. A coldness despite the warmth of his flesh. “…You should relax more if you want to heal right,” Obi-Wan opined.

“Get it over with so ye can leave me alone. Then I’ll _relax_.”

“Very well.” Obi-Wan sighed, easily getting a scoopful of paste and starting to rub. He could tell from the answering flinch that this wasn’t a painless experience. Regardless, if the job was going to be done right for _these_ bruises, the herbs had to be massaged in and absorbed a little. Just slapping it on would be a waste.

Why did he want to do this so fiercely? Was it lingering guilt, that these wounds might be the leftovers of prison abuse? Abuse he had personally sentenced this man to?

Was it still guilt from their encounter on the ship to Naboo?

Or guilt at everything in the galaxy, still hanging heavy and aimless around his neck since Zygerria?

Since perhaps… even before that.

“…In the dunes,” Bane suddenly snarled. Obi-Wan started. “Ye patched me up.” This quiet question-that-wasn't rolled off his tongue like the first aid had been as startling as the ambush that had necessitated it.

“Because I needed you to _not die_.” Obi-Wan clicked his fingernails to the collar’s metal.

“Bantha shite. The shrapnel ye got out of me, sure, that was critical. But the rest?” An accusation hung heavy there. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what sort it was.

“…Because it seemed like the right thing to do.” He could scarcely describe it beyond that, so core to his personality as the act had been.

“Ye tryin’ to make me trust ye? Because I never will.”

Obi-Wan let his heart fill him in on the silent _never again_ and all the other quiet meanings before inviting it to settle, then took another glob of paste and moved to between Bane’s shoulders. A knotted scar lay there. Possibly a stab wound. The muscles here were also tight as a garrote.

“You know,” he said. “Not everyone is playing an angle with every choice. Sometimes, I simply help people who need it.”

“ _I don_ _’t need yer help_.”

“…You say that without a single trace of irony. Please. Need I remind you who asked _me_ to cooperate with this ill-fated mission in the first place? Whose ungrateful, near-unconscious body I had to drag back out of the desert?”

Bane growled. His shoulders wrenched tighter.

“And even if you didn’t need my aid,” Obi-Wan added, the acrid and sharp herbs filling his nose, “I don’t really have another option but to be here, so I might as well make choices I can live with.”

The paste seemed to be spread fairly evenly now. It glistened on that sapphire flesh and its minefield of queasy-dark injury. Obi-Wan sighed, fingers tingling from the contact and the medicine, sinuses a little dizzy. He almost regretted this being over and done with, if only because it meant they’d go back to sniping at each other from behind high walls—this odd intimacy, even if it was long soured, felt as if it opened a door to discussion more true. Direct honesty at least made this whole miserable affair slightly less wretched.

And though Bane surely sensed the task was done, he also didn’t move away. Something seemed to be rolling about in his brain as well, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning through the wall.

When his next words finally came, they made Obi-Wan’s neck hairs stand on end.

“…What do ye know about Sith, Kenobi?”

“ _I beg your pardon?_ ”

The man remained stiff and unblinking. “Pretty sure a member of the Jedi Council knows a t’ing or two about those ones.”

“…I… suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re familiar with the term, given you’ve worked so closely with one so frequently.” Startled by the topic shift, Obi-Wan let the words weigh heavy in his throat before permitting them to pass. This was no meaningless inquiry.

“Hmph.” Bane started to put his shirt back on, performing a rather good make-believe of it not hurting in the slightest.

“I don’t know what you’re after here, regarding either Dooku or that apprentice of his.”

“There’s not more?”

“Certainly not. There’s always two. No more or less. It’s a law for them.”

“…I see.”

“What, exactly, are we talking about?”

Bane let that rest a long moment before he offered his answer. “The trial. The ones who attacked it… those weren’t _my_ people.”

“Wait. What?”

“They were there for me. But _I didn_ _’t hire ‘em_.” Bane stared off to the side, like he was looking for something he couldn’t quite find. He seemed to think that giving out this information would cost him… though what he thought that price would be, it was hard to say.

“Why…? How…?” Obi-Wan’s hands gestured startled questions. He might have added a few _whos_ in there for good measure, but Bane breathed long and slow, as if to consider even telling him any more in the first place.

Patience. _Patience_.

It took a minute. The man slowly, deliberately reached into the pocket of his jacket—slung across the chair to his right—and extracted another hand-rolled cigarette. The floral smoke wafted tight curls into the dark as he mulled and tapped the ashes carelessly to the floor. He didn’t speak again until almost a third was burned and gone, but when he did, his gaze remained anywhere but there. “I had contingencies planned. I told ye. Had a droid orbitin’ Coruscant—placed it a while back, in case somethin’ went wrong when I was jailbreakin’ Eval. I’d set it to watch fer a tracker under my skin. The moment they tried transferrin’ me—and I knew they’d try eventually, with how many times I’ve busted out of that stinkhole—I’d dig out the chip, set it to track. My droid would have gotten to the transport and drilled through the hull. Simple. Now, attackin’ the trial proceedin’? Karkin’ stupid. Unnecessary!”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Obi-Wan actually felt more comfortable with this explanation—it truly had seemed out of character for a man so tactical and cool, his steps light even in a battle-torn hot zone. “But if that wasn’t you, then who would…?”

“Someone with deep pockets and deep access.” Bane took another drag. “Someone who wanted to make this… high-profile. Public. Don’t know fer sure why they’d want _that_. However, why they’d want _me_ … well, I know a lot of secrets, Kenobi. I don’t give in to interrogation, but not everyone would be reassured of that. Luckily, whoever arranged this didn’t want to kill me outright, or I suspect I’d probably have gotten offed in my cell. All the same… starin’ down that strike team… I wasn’t sure if I was goin’ to go willingly. But when I decided I might not have a choice, I told ‘em if they didn’t grab ye too, I wasn’t gonna be compliant.”

“…You wanted to bring me with you that badly? _Why?_ ”

“Because I hate your stinkin’ guts. Besides, what other chance was I gonna get?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. “… _Really?_ ”

Another glare.

“Oh, by all means, take your time.”

Bane did, also taking another long drag from the cig. The room was getting rather heavy with the herbal burn on top of the earthy medicinal stench. “So they down ye, then fling yer ugly, hairy-faced Jedi self over their shoulders and take ye hostage. Actually was a big help, makin’ the guards clear the way—clones, they’d bend over backwards not to be responsible for the death of a master. Made nabbin’ ye very practical.” Bane grimaced. “We all get to a speeder outside. Take off. There was some standard evasive action, changin’ vehicles, gettin’ shot at… ye know. Comes with getaway territory. But this team was slick. Knew just what they were doin’, these spooks. Drugged ye. Drove fast. Worked like one mind. Never showed their faces, either. And finally, we got on some ship they’d arranged and got off-world.” He shrugged. “Which was when it got complicated.”

“ _Complicated_.”

“Yeah, see, because I’m demandin’ to know who I’m answerin’ to and what it is they want fer their _generosity_. But the team was tight-lipped. More worried about _you_. Fact is, they wanted to vent ye out the airlock straight off, once they had me where they wanted me and no reason to bargain.”

“Well. Who do I have to thank for my life, in that case?”

“Not them.” He took another long puff. “Which was a surprise, because, see, their voices… I’m certain they were clones too.”

“… _What?_ ”

A noncommittal shrug answered.

“That’s impossible. You’re mistaken. Clones are _incapable_ of going so rogue as to do what you’re describing.”

“Oh, they weren’t just _any_ clones. This lot was trained special. They were _very_ good.”

Obi-Wan stared, sharp, sour disbelief and unease brewing in his gut. “Why would clones do something like that? Why would they turn on their brothers in that trial…? Try to kill a Jedi…? That’s absurd!”

“Why do clones do anythin’? Because they were ordered to, idiot.” Those fangs bared, glittering. “Makes sense, how easy they got in that buildin’, into those guard uniforms.”

“This is ridiculous; who could—”

“Someone I am _not_ crossin’!” Bane snapped. His finger jabbed an angry arc. “Kenobi, I don’t know. I don’t know who ordered it, who trained that team, but I got guesses. Ye t’ink yer Republic is beyond a few people selling off their resources fer a little cash on the side? One of my old clients in particular, anonymous type, he’s got connections I _do not_ try to follow too closely.” He trailed off with an almost defensive grimace, like an animal puffing up to make itself seem more trouble than it was worth. “The point is, there are some t’ings I don’t dig at, and some people I’m usually polite to, ye understand?”

“So you were polite and didn’t try to press these… mercenaries overly much, though you had to barter with them over me.” Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened and set.

“Yeah. But eventually, I had to _politely_ tell ‘em to t’ank their benefactor fer their generosity. And then, I told them it was nothin’ personal, but also, I _politely_ stole a gun, and I _politely_ said that if any of them touched ye, they wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan stared.

“Don’t even t’ink of t’anking me, I—”

“Oh I know, I know, continue. I’m simply now wondering why you’re alive too.”

Bane shrugged. “Not much else to say. They tried to press the issue. I responded.”

“You got the spit kicked out of you.” That certainly explained _some_ of his extensive injuries.

“They got it worse. Left a nice note fer their bosses though, sayin’ I’d be happy to work with ‘em in the future after I finished my business, askin’ to excuse the mess. Left most of their people alive, even—because I’m a good business partner. _And dat_ _’s dat._ ” Bane had always used a soft _d_ to blunt his _that_ _’s_ and _there_ _’s_ , probably owing to his native tongue’s lack of the syllable, but the way he said it now, it was an emphatic, finalizing club. “Of course, then I find out most of my credits were already frozen and most of my assets stolen—by someone with a lot of time and money to even begin trackin’ those t’ings down. Got me t’inkin’… I probably wouldn’t have liked where those clones were takin’ me, Kenobi. Don’t t’ink I’d have liked it at all.”

Obi-Wan let the story ease in. His unease grew worse. The asteroid bunker he’d woken up in… Bane had said it had been raided since he’d last been there… how far was someone trying to go, to force his relocation and cooperation? Someone so powerful so as to arrange all of that… someone pulling strings from the shadows…

And one couldn’t even be sure of what this mystery person _wanted_ at the end of it all.

Perhaps this was why Bane was inquiring after the Sith. It was a potentiality, given Dooku—and he was trying to put the pieces together, but only had so many.

“You asked Dooku about his benefactor,” Obi-Wan said, neck hairs rising. “What did you mean?”

Bane merely shrugged. “Powerful people have powerful friends. I work fer them sometimes. That’s all.”

“…Is it?”

“ _It is._ ” This seemed a sneering challenge.

Well… _benefactor_ could mean… many things, Obi-Wan supposed. Dooku surrounded himself with the galaxy’s most influential. The only remote reason to question if one of them was connected to the Sith would be if one had an imperfect understanding of what the Sith were, and assumed there were _more_.

And yet, this all just wouldn’t settle cleanly.

But Bane would be giving him nothing else on this today, he knew. The man had no motivation for it.

“So against all of this,” Obi-Wan said flatly instead, “You decided to wake your captive Jedi to see if he could be more useful to you than you’d originally thought. You didn’t have your usual guns, connections, or money… but you had me.”

“A Jedi is a pretty powerful gun,” Bane said coolly. “If ye can persuade him to be pointed at what ye need dealt with.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan strongly suspected that wasn’t the full story either. “Except you also presumed I had information about other things.”

“Yeah. And clearly, ye don’t, so forget all that.” Bane doused his cigarette on the metal of the table leg.

“I don’t think I should. What sort of dreams were you—”

“ _Forget it_.” Bane waved him off and stood, stalking away.

“Come now. What does… what was it… what does _dakushan_ mean?”

The man froze. A visible shudder took him for a moment, and as he turned, his eyes were slits. “What did ye just say to me…?!”

“Some phrase you muttered while you were asleep. _Dakushan_.”

This hung between them for a long moment.

Then: “Who cares?” That voice was a tight, neutral coil.

“Dreams _can_ be relevant, you know. Occasionally. In certain matters.”

But the man simply made a rude gesture and laid back down. “We leave at first light. Get whatever rest you need, Jedi. First light out here is _early_.”

…Well. Clearly, _dat was dat_ on that matter as well.

It was true one couldn’t force someone out of a _mood_ , Obi-Wan supposed, so he’d wait it out. Sitting down in the now-unoccupied chair, he considered the window through the blinds. A human woman led a huffing dewback by, cursing at it as the thing lifted its tail to do its business in the middle of the street. Three Jawas gesticulated excitedly at one another, jogging past on their way to something.

Profoundly, he wished to be home. At this rate, he even wished to be on the bridge of a command ship heading some siege—even that felt more familiar and safe.

Bane was sighing, shutting his eyes, still bare-chested and not even a little shy. He’d clearly decided pretending to sleep was better than pretending to be capable of conversation.

Another memory crawled out from under its assigned rock: him confidently reclined with his shirt discarded on another bunk, unguarded and not _as_ thin, hanging messy out of his pants as he promised the fun they’d have on Tatooine.

As they both sunk in afterglow, bodies throbbing and content.

Obi-Wan tried to look away, and finally managed. But that only left him to contemplate his dreams… his experience in the night that still left sour notes on his tongue and a remembered ache in his windpipe, where Dooku had nearly choked him to death.

Occasionally, dreams did mean something. Occasionally, the Force had a message to share.

But dreams… sometimes, that’s all they were too.

Nothing more.

…Yes. Nothing more.


	7. The Jungle Rain

The night passed and rolled into day. A world of twin suns was left behind, growing smaller in the wake of a starfighter’s afterburn.

Bane seemed to be in no great mood, as per usual. He hadn’t rested easily. Perhaps it was the paranoia of being on the run, and perhaps it was his pain… or perhaps it was the _dreams_ or whatever that was about. But Obi-Wan had woken up multiple times in the night to the click and hum of a blaster being armed. His charming captor would periodically bolt up and point a gun around the room, peering into the darkness, snarling.

Eventually, he’d give up and lie back down. But it was a little alarming, and not just because of the possibility of being mistaken as an enemy.

Bane was… unwell. The longer this went on, the more unstable he’d possibly get.

Obi-Wan was unsurprised when, after they’d boarded the _Xanadu Blood_ , the dividers stayed high. He suspected they’d been shifted into autopilot after they hit hyperspace, and his captor was going to use their travel time to attempt proper sleep in his ship’s familiar comfort.

Another silent and isolated journey it was, for some time. Felucia was no small distance away.

Bane dropped the starfighter out into Hutt space to refuel eventually, disengaging Obi-Wan’s bonds. It was a bare bones, empty waystation where they found themselves—a simple satellite with docking bays.

“I need to use the refresher,” Obi-Wan stated as he stretched his legs. Still denied proper washing, he was also desperate for a sink to clean up in again. He dreaded to think how overripe this ship was getting.

“Then do it.” Bane shrugged like he didn’t care. He even tossed his captive twenty credits. “Buy a sabacc deck if there’s a vendor.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Just do it.”

Slightly stunned he was being given free rein with zero oversight, and more than a little annoyed Bane was using said free rein to treat him like an errand boy, Obi-Wan wandered off. He understood shortly, however, why his captor seemed so unconcerned. There was nothing out here, no chance for comm transmissions.

On top of that, the refresher had only one out-of-order chamber, and the droid manning this place _helpfully_ informed him that they were discounting disposable waste receptacles for his convenience until said privy was repaired. No sinks either— _but please see our fine selection of convenience wipes_.

Bane had left him such things on the starfighter already.

And Obi-Wan was very, very sick of it.

“…Do you at least sell sabacc decks?”

“Yes,” the droid told him, “for thirty credits.”

“I’ve got twenty.”

“Twenty-five,” the droid insisted.

“ _I_ _’ve got twenty_.”

“Then…” The droid tilted its head. “…Perhaps you should beg your master for five more.”

“He’s not my…!” Obi-Wan touched the collar and almost started shouting. But, he calmed himself. Found his center. Breathed. “You won’t get better than twenty from anyone coming through here. What do you get, two or three customers a day?”

The droid considered, and finally, after beeping and processing, passed over the cards with a grudging drone.

“Ye spent all twenty?” Bane snipped when he returned. “They’re worth ten at best!”

Obi-Wan just tossed the cards over the man’s head into the cockpit and re-boarded, resigning himself.

This time, as they continued the long circuit spinward along the Triellus Trade Route, the walls didn’t go back up. It seemed Bane was done with sleeping.

Perhaps he was feeling _sociable_.

The horror.

Silently, he spun his seat, not re-engaging Obi-Wan’s harness, though it seemed the controls were locked to prevent any kind of ship takeover. He was shuffling the sabacc cards expectantly.

“Really?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Ye got somethin’ better to do?”

It was easy to consider the next day stretching out in front of them, silence in the glow of hyperspace. Just him, his _disposable waste receptacles_ , and a few ration bars in a cramped little chair, not even allowed to stand. It would ache. It would itch. It would wear him psychologically exhausted.

This was why no one traveled in starfighters on the regular.

“Now that you mention it,” he sighed. “No.”

“Figured not.” Bane tapped a few buttons on a nearby console, extracting a hovering tray. It appeared to be a tool holder or some such thing, but it would make a fair game table in a pinch.

The sabacc passed quite a few hours, though at least it was moderately entertaining and low-stakes. Bane didn’t try to talk much, except to gloat when he won and grunt when he lost, and neither of them had money to wager. For some suspicious reason, his win ratio seemed much more reasonable this time around. Likely because he had no incentive to rig the match.

 _Must have been a marked deck before,_ Obi-Wan dwelled uncharitably.

Slowly, time marched on past that too. Sleep lost its meaning, became only a means to evade boredom. Even relieving hunger was unpleasant. Piles of ration wrappers grew, contents all the same: fortified chewy mash in a variety of dull flavors. It was a blur of refueling stops, of droid-manned waystations, of stars and void and queasy jumps to the next leg of the journey.

Eventually, talking happened. It was inevitable.

“…Did you really recognize the Jedi poetry I was quoting back on Tatooine, or were you guessing?”

Bane blinked, long and slow, slouched in his pilot’s seat. He’d recently reapplied his bacta and medicinal paste, and though he was moving _much_ freer and easier, he smelled like a particularly herbaceous stew. “…I _can_ read, Kenobi. Ye know that, right?”

What kind of answer was that? That wasn’t the problem! Bounty hunters didn’t read _poetry_. They didn’t read _Ilandi_. They were rough and uncultured, concerned with capturing, killing, and collecting. Bane was especially all of that, regardless of the reputation of the Duros schooling system. These works were _not_ something the standard person kept an idle curiosity about anyway—outside of Jedi circles, they were barely even available. “How and why did you get hold of Ilandi?”

Bane turned his head away to look out into hyperspace. “None of yer business.”

Obi-Wan had no idea what to do with this. Could barely fathom a galaxy in which _Cad Bane_ voluntarily accessed great literature and culture. “Well then, what did you think of it?”

“…Of what?” Teeth bared.

“Master Ilandi! Come now. Have you really read his work, or are you lying to shut me up?”

“Yer just tryin’ to prove I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. Ilandi wasn’t a man.” The scowl deepened.

Obi-Wan blinked. _Well!_ “…Then what did you think of _her_ work?”

“It’s… fine.” Bane looked about ready to crawl back into his isolation space again.

“… _Fine?!_ ”

“What, ye want me to write a love letter to the lady? It’s fine.”

“Her use of metaphor to convey—”

“Tch.” He held up a hand. “She’s overwrought. Get off it.”

They stared at each other. Obi-Wan was somewhere between wanting to launch into a minor debate on how utterly incorrect that assessment was and simply being astonished this was a conversation happening at all.

“…Wularen was better anyway,” the man growled a moment later, derailing either choice entirely.

What? He’d read enough poetry to have _comparative knowledge and opinions?!_ “Who…?”

“Oh, what, the fancy Jedi hasn’t ever heard of Wularen? Maybe _yer_ the one that needs to read.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, eyes wide at the window, and chewed on that silently for the next two hours. When they dropped out of hyperspace next, he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t gotten a bad ration batch and dreamt it.

Was Bane serious? Had he really…?

_Perhaps I am making dangerous assumptions about my opponent. And I should know better than that._

The man was educated. That was clear. His words were precise and his vocabulary sizable, despite the persistent accent and favoring of crude expression. Frankly, he’d made all these hyperspace jumps unaided by an astromech as well, something highly uncommon, definitely speaking to advanced mathematics and astrocartography. Over their awful history, Bane had in fact demonstrated over a hundred odd skills he needed to quickly and efficiently execute whatever lawlessness he wanted.

And he knew Jedi. Knew his prey. Knew their works. His was not just the cleverness of a cunning beast—he might have been _very_ well-educated. On its face, that almost seemed absurd, but…

“Do you enjoy the symphony then also? Just so I can have my heart-stopping surprises and be done with it?”

“I _enjoy_ it when it’s _quiet_ ,” Bane grumbled.

“So… no?”

The dividers went up for a while.

* * *

After the long days waxed and waned, after more sleep and rations and sabacc than Obi-Wan thought he could bear… their journey finally ended. Felucia’s verdant orb shone before them in space.

Finally. _Finally_.

The cloud-heavy and humid atmosphere swallowed the _Xanadu Blood_ whole, sensors beeping with excitement. Bane piloted in low and fast through pounding rain, skimming over the vast expanses of flowering trees. Obi-Wan almost pressed his face right into the transparisteel. He recalled it being said that human spacers tended to go mad without greenery now and again. He couldn’t argue. This had been like being stuck inside a prison cell.

Which… it really was, but still.

“Setting us down ten klicks south of the target,” Bane grunted, the only giveaway to his mutual relief being a slight upturn in his vocal cadence. That, and he seemed to be descending quicker than was _strictly_ necessary. “We’ll need to cover some distance on the ground.”

“We can’t land closer?” Obi-Wan had to ask, but he actually didn’t mind more time planet-side. Not at all.

“They’ve got airspace sensors over an extended range. Ye know, if anyone could just land there, go in, and secure the situation, they wouldn’t have hired _me_. I’m not cheap.”

“Don’t you mean hired _us?_ Or am I being perceived as one of your assets? Like a nice handbag?”

Bane grumbled something indistinguishable as he settled the craft on a rock near what seemed to be a small village.

“I’ll pretend that was a flattering remark about how I’m a _very_ nice accessory that brings out the color of your eyes.”

Bane simply popped up the hatch and vaulted away into the downpour. It almost would have been offensive, how fast he was hurrying off, but Obi-Wan, frankly, agreed. He’d been sitting so long, it felt like he was creaking as he unfolded. _Force,_ that felt _good_. The hatch closed behind him as he disembarked and remembered what it was like to walk.

 _My word. There_ _’s so much oxygen here. I’d forgotten_. It almost made him laugh, brain buzzing, rain slicking through the thin layer of brown fuzz sprouting on his scalp. The sharp and pleasant tang of petrichor hung thick all around, stewing and steaming with the fragrant, earthy life of these wilds. He just wanted to stand and let his face tilt up into that rain, refreshing and warm.

But something nagged. A recurring dream. A jungle deep.

And two minutes later, it was clear this wasn’t all going to be a relief. He began to shiver, itching, soaked to the bone and muddled in the fog. He hadn’t quite appreciated the full extent of his armored robes last time. Those Jedi-issue layerings had left him good to go in a wide variety of environments and combat situations—but now? He had nothing more than a simple, mass-woven textile, clinging, thin.

Bane seemed quite content. His leathers easily repelled the water, slicking it back into the soil. His hat’s astonishing brim actually seemed to be quite the bonus. He was keeping fairly dry indeed.

Together, they trudged to the village, their boots squelching through red mud thick as paste. Several fields lay along the way, tilled and verdant. “They’re just farmers here,” Obi-Wan sighed, wondering if he could even be heard over the storm.

“No kiddin’.” Bane didn’t look over.

“Tell me the syndicates have no quarrel with them. That we aren’t about to rob them of something they need.”

“The syndicates don’t care about this little operation.”

“Then why are we stopping?” The truth was, Obi-Wan knew the longer they were present, the more likely it was trouble would find these innocents. These Felucians might not have the backbone of the ones that he, Anakin, and Ahsoka had trained to repel rabble-rousers not so long ago.

Bane didn’t answer.

The little, purple, lizard-like farmers here _did_ seem squeamish of the outsiders in their midst, but they were also curious, so it was clear they weren’t one of the less-contacted tribes. They ventured close while going about their day, asking questions in stunted Basic about where their visitors were from, if anyone might like to buy a thing or two, or if they needed some food—because such-and-such’s aunt was cooking a big dinner, and there was always room for someone else, if anyone was hungry.

Obi-Wan smiled, flattered at such an offer, and yes, deeply interested in fresh cooking. It was a relief to see such hospitality in a war-torn galaxy still.

But Bane deflected much of the small talk with a shake of his head, asking after ground transports with a single-minded persistence that seemed to leave a lot of furrowed faces and raised brows.

One farmer in particular ushered them beneath an awning for a more private conversation. She chewed on a stalk of thick grass, looking up at Obi-Wan appraisingly with her bulging eyes—most likely judging his poor choice of clothing. “Transportation? In the rain?” She shook her head. “Wise to stay indoors until it pass. Flood coming, from high-up lands. One week, best to stay here.”

Bane shifted his weight impatiently. “Don’t have that kind of time.”

“Some have animals for sale,” she hedged. “But legs. Out there, snap in mud pits.”

“What ye got in the way of landspeeders? I heard there was someone…”

Clucking in her throat, the Felucian nodded. “Huh. Ah… yeah… if you know Kiiro, he was outsider, like you. Left to meet someone. Didn’t come back. Still have his machines, if you want to see. Elder takes payment for Kiiro’s, ah… the things he left. Down five houses, take right, keep going until you reach shrub, it looks like mynock, then walk left and go, ah, maybe five minutes with those long legs, ha, and then, ahhhh, you’ll see a rock, very blue rock, very blue, like you! Then you…”

This washed over Obi-Wan in a stream of consciousness. He retained about half, and he hoped Bane retained at _least_ the other half, because he really wasn’t really looking forward to all this exploration during a monsoon.

“…Yeah… t’anks,” Bane finally ground out at the end of speech.

The farmer let them be, raising her hood over her little violet head, and trampled off to her business.

The lightning tore open the blackened sky again, the storm beating across the ground. It may have been early afternoon, according to the ship, but it could have been night for all the visibility. Obi-Wan shivered again.

And Bane, of course, just started walking back out into the mess, like it wasn’t even there.

That was it. Enough was enough. “You _do_ realize I’m going to get extremely ill in this,” Obi-Wan snapped. The man turned back, squinting. The sky shuddered with thunder. “…You’re not really versed in keeping people alive for longer than it takes to deliver them, are you?”

He made a sort of vague shrug and grimace. “What is it then, Kenobi? Water too cold? Too hot? Too wet fer yer _delicate complexion?_ T’ought ye Jedi can go anywhere.”

“I’m not weatherproof!” Obi-Wan waved a hand on his wrist, baffled, annoyed. “And Felucia—the last time I was here, half my men got diseases from kicking over the wrong root balls. Between that and the rain, it’s a recipe for leaving me half-dead. So…”

“Fine. Here.” Bane reached into his bag, withdrew a long cloak of sorts, and tossed it. Obi-Wan snagged it and stared. It was black and smelled like leather as it rustled through his fingers. The outside was shiny and slick. The way it rippled with flexibility, shimmering… Obi-Wan hadn’t seen much like it. It felt expensive. Rare.

He slipped it over his head, and instantly, his body heat filled the little space in a content, drying bubble, all the way down to his shins. The hood was comfort-soft. His sensitive ears, still raw from sun, luxuriated in the protection. _Well_. This was almost lovely.

“That’ll do?” Bane cocked his head.

 _Yes_ , it would more than _do_. One could only nod and be stunned that Bane wasn’t using this for himself, was just surrendering it on over. But the man nodded, pulled his coat tightly over his guns, and began venturing back out into the wilds… or at least, to whatever convoluted path that farmer had laid out. Obi-Wan, not sure how he felt about all this, followed.

And as luck would have it, the one shrub really _did_ look like a mynock, the rock where they needed to turn really _was_ painted a striking blue, and they found the place just fine. The Elder had apparently moved all of the missing person’s projects into his own yard. Most of it seemed to be farming equipment and other such lumbering vehicles, but fortunately, they wouldn’t need to explore the jungle on a hover-tractor: a few speeders had survived. The vehicles even started right away and were of a reasonable enough cost that Bane didn’t get more pissy than he already was.

All this good fortune could make a man uneasy. It was bound to end.

Their sojourn into the wilderness began tensely. Rain burst on their faces and goggles, smearing and blurring their vision. They had to move at half-speed to avoid Felucia’s rampant plant life: the riots of trees, vines, and color in this untamed trek along Bane’s compass route. The damp skin inside Obi-Wan’s soaked tunic was getting a rash, chafing against the speeder seat, and humidity hung heavy in his lungs, sapping his strength.

“How much longer?” His shout barely carried over the storm and engines.

Bane deigned to yell back. “Two klicks!”

Well… that wasn’t… _bad_. Sort of.

Then, on a hard turn around a lichen-blanketed stone, Obi-Wan’s boot skimmed water. Small rivers of mud and silt were furrowing in the soil, flowing quickly past them both. The dirt hadn’t really been his concern, given the necessity of focusing on what was ahead, but…

 _This trickle is turning into a small river_. Something tingled at the back of his mind, and he banked again, just a fraction of a second before the widening current loosened the roots of a small tree. It crackled and fell, barely missing him.

“We need shelter!” he shouted uselessly into the rain.

“We keep goin’!” Bane bellowed back, speeding up.

Obi-Wan was about to shout that one of these ideas was clearly better than the other, but then, he gauged their direction. Bane was driving them up to higher ground. They were still in a low plain. _A flood plain_.

Well, perhaps then, leaving was best. He shifted gears and pressed forward, the Force guiding him.

They managed on through the drenching wind. Trees and massive flowers were cracking and collapsing with growing frequency around them, washing away. And these repulsorlifts hadn’t been tuned for overwater travel; it was clear from how they shuddered and bobbed as Obi-Wan shot over widening streams—though he found land again as soon as he could, before his vehicle could tank.

They rocketed over the crest of a hill. Finally, high ground! But relief was short-lived.

The only warning they received was a sudden stampede of wildlife. It surged in front of them, bursting from the undergrowth—frantic batlike creatures, amphibious hoppers, long-neck grazers, and even a juvenile rancor, its massive mouth panting and heaving, crashing past. Bane’s speeder almost pitched as its braking screamed—its nose pivoting high, torquing at the last moment so it didn’t flip. Then, the man banked into traveling alongside the stampede instead of going around it.

Obi-Wan just screeched to a stop, because there was nothing wiser to do when a _rancor_ was involved. _Follow it? Is he mad?!_

But then, he heard the thunder… and it wasn’t really thunder at all.

Tree roots. Boulders. The land heaved.

And the floodwaters rushed out of the jungle to meet him, as high as a man’s head.

Obi-Wan pivoted the bike and floored it. The torrent knocked into his speeder’s back end as he shot up another ridge, belatedly following the wisdom of the fleeing animals. He spun out.

The next thing he knew, he was looking up at the amber-dark sky, rain cascading into his open mouth. He spat, choking. Everything hurt.

But… but he was alive. Nothing seemed broken.

Flat-backed on a hill, he overlooked the birth of a new river. His speeder was quietly sputtering ten feet away, soaked. By some miracle, it had only rolled and lodged itself against the soil. No tree.

Bane puttered up alongside, peering down, frowning. Luminescent flower bulbs framed his head from above, as if he was a concussion-induced hallucination.

“Yer alive,” he stated, like this made him neither happy nor sad.

“…Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“Yer bike’s gonna…” The speeder suddenly popped and powered down. “…Flood out.”

Obi-Wan fought up to his feet, sinking in the mud, dizzy and shivering. So much for Bane’s fine borrowed cloak. The rain and filth and moss entombed him. “I told you we should have stayed in town.”

“Tch.” Bane jerked his chin up, pointing to the left, and Obi-Wan followed with his eyes. The floodwaters had parted around their hill, draining into the lowlands. Where they stood was a little island now, separated from the rest of the jungle—and not a short walk away was a tall, geometrical, green-and-yellow lump.

Ah! A building! Long reclaimed by jungle, yes, but a roof!

_The Force is with me._

He snagged his bike and guided it to shelter to let it dry. Bane followed.

The outpost was molded and dingy on the inside, vines and fungi sneaking within. Was this… Separatist construction? Goodness. It had likely only been abandoned for a few months, but Felucia was a hungry world.

There were no supplies or amenities; it seemed this place was meant for simple monitoring and communications, probably to observe the war fronts. The equipment had been gutted and scorched, wires hanging everywhere. Likely had been done when the occupants fled.

No refresher here. No towels. No comms.

Why was this an ongoing theme?

At least it had a roof, and for that, Obi-Wan was grateful. He breathed the heavy wet, removed his filthy cloak, and tried desperately to wipe the rain and sweat from his skin with the white dress robes still in his pack. Unfortunately, they were no better suited for this harsh environment than his current outfit. Now they became soiled beyond repair, too.

Bane made no such ministrations of comfort to himself. He simply sat down in the corner by his own speeder, back to the wall, and let his leathers drip as he watched the deluge through the broken door. He still seemed quite unbothered.

“This rain could last all night, and that farmer implied the floods are going to continue all week.” Obi-Wan sighed, joining him a safe distance back on the floor. The chairs were coated in spores of some kind, something he didn’t want to disturb. “We _really_ should have just waited this out in the village.”

Bane shrugged, withdrawing a cigarette from his overcoat. Its embers burned in the shadows as it ignited. “Black Sun isn’t a patient client. They might have sent other hunters. Don’t want to get to the party late. We’ll move out again when there’s a break in the rain, after your bike finishes drainin’.” He took a long drag, then puffed a thin, sweet-smelling cloud towards the door.

Obi-Wan still couldn’t recognize the ingredients, but wrinkled his nose anyway. “That’s a terrible habit.”

Bane shrugged again, this time puffing out a ring towards his prisoner’s face. It disappeared before it got there, but one could read the _don_ _’t care; kriff off_ well enough.

“Could have been eating a big welcome-to-town dinner with a nice farmer’s aunt,” Obi-Wan grumbled, belly growling. Fishing into his pack, at least he found more spacer’s rations from Tatooine’s markets. They sort of made him wish he had some rat, but they’d do.

Bane chuckled humorlessly. “Welcome dinner? Tch. The less this place remembers us, the better.”

 _You just don_ _’t like people_. Crunching on his rations and chasing it with a little water, Obi-Wan didn’t bother saying anything more aloud. Come to think of it, he’d had enough conversation as well.

And so they remained for hours. It really seemed like this job entailed a _lot_ of sitting alone together in small, quiet spaces, waiting for something to happen. And whenever one paced too close in this confined area, there was a subtle shift around Bane, like those muscles and nerves were coiling up tight at the merest threat of words.

“You know,” Obi-Wan finally said, the sound of the rain continuing to crash down, “It really does seem like it would be much easier for you to ransom me off to the Republic sooner rather than later. I’m a lot of trouble to feed and keep in line. And that’s not even counting the fact that you clearly can’t stand me.”

Bane _tsk_ ed. He’d finished his cigarette ages ago, and had managed to make his slump against the wall unnerving. “I’ll do it when it’s time to do it, Jedi.”

“And when’s that?”

Bane just put his hat down over his face.

“Right then.” Well, Obi-Wan had figured out one thing. He was usually _Kenobi_ , but when his captor was especially annoyed, he was _Jedi_.

The silence stretched for a long time after. Bane eventually slipped into a doze, and Obi-Wan watched the floodwaters rise in the lull—watched the lightning crackle, the silt and mangled branches washing away, all the death and renewal in the drastic Felucian life cycle. The monsoon flow was likely at the village now, dividing into canals and drainage. It would nurture the fields and curve around homes harmlessly.

Obi-Wan fidgeted with his collar, thinking this world beautiful, and so strong in the living Force. He always did. If one shut their eyes, they could almost feel the planet breathing. Its energy was wild, uncontrolled, but in just the right pockets, it was tamed enough for a people to flourish.

Still, the water that had gotten between his skin and collar had started to irritate his already-chafed flesh, and he didn’t have the presence of mind to meditate. The inflammation stung, making breathing this thick, pollen-filled damp even harder. He dug out some of the healing ointment, tried to rub it in. But his neck had already swelled so much, he couldn’t get his fingers into the gap.

 _Lovely_. It would likely get worse from here.

Sighing, he tried not to think about it. The more he did, the more he realized how restricted his airways were getting.

And then a wheezing made him look up. It had barely been heard in the pounding sheets of rain… but there it was. The sound was labored. Thin, quick it came, agitated.

He turned, looking to Bane. It seemed the man was deep in his dreams, fingers making minute twitches. His air was irregular—as he turned his head, his chest jerked, his hat falling to his side. Those eyes were flitting rapidly under the lids.

Then he simply stopped breathing at all.

A second passed. Two. Three.

This didn’t seem… normal.

Then Bane’s chest spasmed.

 _Hm_.

No breath was getting in. An arm jerked. Another five seconds passed.

“Bane.”

Those airways spasmed again, a gurgling starting in his throat, like he was being choked. His hand reached up, clawing at his neck.

Then something dark, something _cold_ , tickled over Obi-Wan’s senses. _…The Force!_ “Bane!” He jerked up, trotted over, and reached out.

The man’s eyes opened, but Obi-Wan already sensed no one was home. Glassy, that gaze was. Empty. Bane seized violently, and then, air sucked into his lungs like it was the floodwaters outside. He thrashed, and like a spring-loaded trap, knocked aside Obi-Wan’s hand, jamming a blaster into his throat.

Obi-Wan wasn’t even clear on when Bane had _drawn_ the weapon. The man was _fast_. Slowly, calmly, he kept his hands up and non-threatening. “You’d stopped breathing.”

Coughing and sputtering, it seemed the hunter inside the instincts finally arrived. His breath evened. “What…?” he hissed, sitting back. He didn’t lower his gun. “What do ye think yer doin’?”

“ _You stopped breathing_ ,” Obi-Wan insisted. “I sensed the dark side.”

Bane’s fangs bared. The blaster pressed forward. “Speak plain and speak fast.”

“Was it Dooku?” Obi-Wan didn’t know who else it could have been. But to reach across the distance… to find someone in the Force and try to harm them in their sleep… it would have taken a _tremendously_ powerful Sith, more than he even thought the count was…!

That gaze narrowed. “And why would ye t’ink _that?_ ”

“Dreams don’t choke a man!”

He sneered. “Ye told me ye don’t have anythin’ to do with it—not sure I believe that, with ye here, hovering’ over me when—”

“I most certainly do _not_ have anything to do with this!”

“And yet, yer always there.” Growling, Bane finally holstered his gun and backed off, like he’d finally remembered Obi-Wan was in no true position to attack him. “Lot of dreams, but that’s always the same. _You_.”

The thunder bellowed. Obi-Wan contemplated this admission, both alarmed and astounded. He’d suspected, for all of Bane’s fixation on kidnapping him, but… “I… I realize you’re not fond of talking. But, if you describe what you’ve seen, perhaps I can tell you something. This is a matter of the Force.” He wondered if he should admit his own secrets… if it would help in any capacity… or if it would only raise Bane’s hackles. “I’ve… had some dreams too, where you’re there, where I see through _your_ eyes. And I didn’t ask for it any more than you asked for… whatever you’ve been seeing.”

Bane mulled on this for a long stretch without responding. Then: “Ye t’ink it’s Dooku.”

“Maybe.” Obi-Wan shivered. “I don’t know yet, now do I? I need information.”

Bane mulled that over. His voice was oddly flat and dull, trailing off. “When did they start for ye?”

“Since you were put back in prison.”

“…Ah.” One could only hope the man was processing something complicated, because his neutral grunt was entirely underwhelming for these matters.

“Was that when it started for you, too?”

Bane grimaced, which might have been a yes. “Dooku _was_ in this last one. Sometimes is.”

“And I was there?”

“Ye were.” The words were controlled, quiet. “…He killed ye.”

“…Oh.” Obi-Wan’s stomach sank. “And was he going to kill you too? Or were you seeing things… from my eyes?”

“…Not sure.”

Maddeningly nonspecific! “What does that _mean?_ ”

“Happens a little different, every time. But it ends the same. No air. Dead or dyin’, one or both of us. Can’t breathe. Wake up.” Bane looked away.

Obi-Wan liked this less and less, and he was starting to understand why his captor had been so cagey. He might still have kept his silence if not startled so thoroughly. “Look, it could be nothing. But do you remember why we would be around Dooku? Where we were?”

The man just shook his head. “It’s dark. Some hall.”

 _That_ made Obi-Wan’s flesh crawl. “There must be some other detail.”

“Nothing else! That’s it! Ye know… it’s just _dreams_.” Those fangs slipped out in annoyance.

“But there are _others too_ , aren’t there?”

Lip curling, Bane held his baleful glare. “Funny, ye haven’t told me yet why it’s so important for ye to know these t’ings, if ye aren’t responsible for them. What are ye gettin' out of it?”

“…Well… sometimes dreams sent by the Force are true… or could become true.” He received less of an incredulous look than he suspected he might. Perhaps… yes. Bane had known of this, of course. Maybe in part, his careful, minimal trickle of information was designed to keep a helpful Jedi talking. Obi-Wan sighed, knowing he was taking the bait, but… well, he wanted to know. “For example… one night, I saw a number of guards coming to take their anger out on you. And when I visited you the next day, well… I saw what had happened.”

Bane frowned. “Oh. Is that what that was about?” His tongue clicked. “Well, isn’t _that_ interestin’. Ye know, I don’t much like ye watchin’ me in yer sleep, Kenobi.”

“Well I don’t _much like_ you seeing us getting killed, but here we are! I mean, you’re not even Force-sensitive—that I’ve known of…?”

Bane shrugged. “If ye mean whether I can move shite with my mind, then _no_.”

That wasn’t really the measuring stick, but Obi-Wan considered taking it at face value anyway. Even tuning his own senses towards Bane… the man was just… a _wall_. A blip of a presence, its ways shrouded… as he’d always been. “It’s quite possible you’re just getting a brief glimpse of somewhere else in the time stream—the Force does move through all of us, even you. It’s not unheard of. Though to be clear, these events you’re seeing only have a _chance_ of happening. The future’s always…” He sighed, realizing he sounded like Master Yoda. “Uncertain. Clouded.”

“But we dream about each other.” Bane’s teeth bared in an absurd, unhappy smile.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan let that admission sit in the open, like it was combusting on contact with oxygen. “Well, we’re stuck together. Connected, somehow.”

A mangled chuckle fell out of Bane’s face. “The kark do ye mean _somehow?_ People should really tell ye the side effects of beddin’ a Jedi, is what I t’ink.”

Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan pinched his brow. “That likely doesn’t have _anything_ to do with it, alright?”

“Well what the kriff else would it be?” That peeved chuckle kept hissing between teeth. “Come on. This had to have happened to other people ye’ve been with.”

“…I’ve never asked, but no, I genuinely don’t think it _has_. I’ve never heard of this!”

“Kriffin’ bizarre Jedi magic disease. No wonder yer not allowed to breed.”

“It’s not a… hey!”

But Bane seemed to have worn his sarcasm out. He just sat there, looking sullen. “When does it stop?”

Obi-Wan considered this, startled. It was surprising that Bane was actually letting his deep lack of ease _show_. “I don’t know. It stopped for a time for me—even as a Jedi, I’ve never been overly prone to dream-visions—but it came back.”

Those sharp teeth clicked again, perhaps in exasperation.

“Honestly, for you, it’d be strange to me if _any_ of your dreams came to pass. You’re just not… sensitive to this. And seeing visions clearly, it takes years of training and focus. There’s a lot that’s misleading.”

“Well, some of it, that I saw… it _was_ true.”

Obi-Wan blinked, somehow even more unsettled than before.

“… _Some of it was_. That’s all I gotta say.”

Reaching up to his agitated neck again, Obi-Wan rubbed the angry red swell. “Well, it may be _very_ important! I need to know—what all have you seen? Besides Dooku?”

Bane’s gaze flickered. “It doesn’t matter. What’s wrong with yer neck?”

Obi-Wan ground his jaw. “It _does_ matter—”

“I said, what’s wrong with yer neck?”

They glared at each other. Obi-Wan felt his impatience starting to boil over. “ _Well_. The collar’s a little _tight_. It’s chafing and might get infected eventually, and I’m having trouble breathing. I mean, that’s all. You don’t care about that.”

Those thin lips came together in a pressed line. Slowly, Bane rose. “Stand up. Turn around.”

Grimacing, Obi-Wan complied. Bane’s bootsteps advanced, then stopped right behind him. And then, something very hard and pointed dug into his back.

“So, is that a blaster, or are you just happy to—”

“ _Yeah it_ _’s a blaster_ ; shut up and don’t try anythin’.” To Obi-Wan’s shock, he suddenly felt a warm, smooth hand brush his nape.

And his collar… it snapped free.

Instantly a swell of relief collapsed on him like a burst balloon; all the weight of Zygerria washed downstream with the floodwaters beyond their shelter. His eyes suddenly stung.

 _Don_ _’t let it show how much it affects you. Don’t_.

He corralled his emotions desperately, trying to put them in order. And he wondered if Bane had noticed his gasp. He hoped not. That was all he bothered hoping for; there was no way this collar wasn’t going back around his neck in a moment or two—and with it, all the psychological gravity.

The man exhaled pointedly, like he disapproved of whatever he saw.

Obi-Wan held his breath.

And Bane leaned around, handing it over. “Put it on yer leg. Or I shoot ye.”

The gun was still pressed into a particularly sensitive bruise. “Right.” The device clicked into place quickly on his shin above his boots—glowing, reactivating.

“I know ye can slide it off from there if ye take off yer shoe,” Bane grumbled. “So don’t try it. I’m watchin’.” The gun was removed, a soft click and rustle as it was re-holstered.

Breathing. It was easier. Obi-Wan’s airways were clear, the relief on his skin palpable. And even if the collar could happily detonate his foot clean off now… it didn’t trip the same memory switches in his brain… the weight of the metal around windpipe, the despair of the brainwashing from the euphemistically named _processing camps_. “…Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you making sure I’m… comfortable? What do you care?”

“I _don_ _’t_. I…” Bane sneered. He turned again, stomping to the entrance. “I don’t have to tell ye nothin’. Ye don’t have anywhere to run here, my ship’s gene-locked, and there’s no other ships with hyperdrives on this continent. Collar barely matters here, now does it?”

Obi-Wan considered this. Perhaps it was true.

And it also seemed true that Cad Bane was showing him… a _kindness_. That… didn’t seem right. At _all_. There wasn’t a kind bone in the man’s body. But first the medicinal paste, and now this?

Of course, Bane was so overwound, so damned defensive and and locked-tight, there would be no straight answer for this behavior, no freely offered explanation.

But something was starting to become clear. Something was under the surface here, something with a size and depth that left Obi-Wan uncertain.

Strange. So strange.

Yet, it was welcome. Thinking of the paste, Obi-Wan retrieved it, rubbing it into his neck with no small relief. It left his skin cool and tingling, and he took several deep breaths, glad again of the freedom, of how such a small thing made the world so much less crushing. Then he watched his captor curiously. The man was leaned against the wall now, keeping him in the corners of his eyes.

He was starting to decide Bane might be right about one thing—as a control device, now, the collar really _didn_ _’t_ matter. Because he _wanted_ to stay. He wanted to know what in the galaxy was going on here. He needed to confront whatever this was, as Yoda said.

So that was what he would do. The rest of the universe would just have to manage without him for a little while longer.


	8. The Jungle Rain, II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has hit such a huge benchmark for kudos and comments, and I want to thank you all so much again for spending time with me here. I didn’t realize this fic would resound so strongly, and I’m so happy and grateful to connect with all of you. Thank you again for reading and for reaching out! <3

It took until sunset for the rain to depart. Nocturnal Felucia was not something which Obi-Wan was keen on experiencing—but Bane was equally wary of staying and sleeping. He urged them on into the faint yellow-pink glow of the flora and the heavy, humid blanket of the night.

This time there were no constellations to guide them; the clouds were as thick as the fertile mud that almost pulled off their boots. Something was growing jagged in the air now, tense, electric—in the thick tapestry of the living Force, this unease was hard to untangle and understand. But it burned cold and dim in the back of Obi-Wan’s brain as they traversed this luminescent hinterland.

The wilds were so quiet. Like the animals weren’t returning, even in the storm’s lull.

Northward, they continued. Obi-Wan spied their target well before they arrived—out here, the compound was a torch in the abyss: vast growing fields, searchlights, and watchtowers. Armed guards marched a perimeter contained by a wall of blue energy. On a hill crest behind some foliage, Bane crouched low in the warm mud, observing all this through his binocs. He absently smeared red dirt across his face until not a trace of sapphire was bare. After disguising their bikes under giant leaves, Obi-Wan joined him.

“What are you doing?”

“Some of the mercs here will be Trandoshans, Kenobi. Disguise yer scent.”

Obi-Wan grimaced, then helped himself to a dirt makeover too. A bouquet of minerals and moss settled over his pores and flooded his senses.

Beyond the fence, thousands of stalks were flowering red, bulbous blooms waving gently in the humid night. _Nysillin._ However, this wasn’t an operation like that of the village he’d visited many months back—this was a crop on an industrial scale, one clearing the forests and trying for acres. A harvest this size was worth…

Well, he didn’t know, but he suspected the owners might buy a star-yacht for every day of the week.

“What in the galaxy did Black Sun hire you to do here?”

Bane passed the binocs, gesturing to the gate. Obi-Wan frowned, took them, and looked. It was actually the symbol of the syndicate that lay emblazoned over the entrance.

“So,” the man said, gesturing at the farm, “Here’s the asset they want back.”

“What?”

“A few months ago, the boss that ran this place started demandin’ better cuts.” He laughed. “They got her out of the picture pretty quickly. But this operation? Turns out, she’d hired an independent crew to take care of it, and they got to likin’ the money. Started demandin’ official recognition as arms of Black Sun. Were told _no_ , naturally.”

“…Naturally.”

“But these mercs decided they didn’t want to give their tidy little profit center back to some new overseer. They started shootin’ down every ship that got close. No hails, no bargainin’, and no prisoners. Began workin’ on gettin’ their _own_ customers.” He sneered. “The syndicate would usually make an example of ‘em, but it doesn’t want to get too forceful here, ye understand? That’d damage the goods, and harvest is supposed to be in a week. Nysillin’s _delicate_.”

“So they want a lighter touch on the problem.”

“Precisely.” Bane’s fangs bore out a disconcerting smile. He stood, adjusting his hat and taking stock of his pockets, tallying through a mental checklist he’d likely reviewed a thousand times before. Methodical and spring-loaded, he readied his guns, swaggered up, and took the binocs back. Obi-Wan would be lying if he denied that a primal warmth tickled down his spine, watching him. He couldn’t help but remember how Bane’s deliberate touch… felt.

But he was above that, so he turned away. He needed no reminder of exactly what sort of creature he dealt with. “So what are you proposing? This seems a bit more work than an old Ithorian in a cave.”

“It’s simpler than it looks. That fence isn’t half as secure as they t’ink. Leave that to me. Once we’re past it, we’ll need to get in the central control—that’ll be simplest with yer mind tricks. We get that far, they’ve lost. I can lock out much of the mercenary force and deactivate the turrets fer Black Sun’s people to approach.” He pointed to each corner of the compound. Sophisticated air defenses rested there, barrels high to the dark cloud-wracked night. “The client would _prefer_ most of the tech staff be unharmed. They got valuable skills. But anyone with a blaster? Fair game if we need to do somethin’ about it. Understand?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. He certainly would have liked to know all this before now, but keeping him off-guard was clearly one more method Bane was going to use to keep him compliant. “I can see what I can do. Still, without my lightsaber, I’m going to need help getting in close enough to try any… _mind tricks_ , as you say.”

“I’ll take care of that too,” was the only dismissive answer.

“How?”

“A distraction I’ve been primin’.”

“ _Which is?_ ”

“…Ye’ll feel better if ye don’t know.”

Did anyone feel better with that as an answer? Really?

“Now let’s move. We don’t have time for more recon.”

Mouth dry, neck prickling, there was nothing to do but to brace for the worst. Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder, glancing to the shadows behind. Yes, something was definitely skulking out there. The knowing was a fever-shiver. He adjusted his stance in mud that squished too loud, steadied a breath that sounded like a blaster shot.

Bane spared him a glance. “Mmm. Ye feel it comin’.”

Obi-Wan snapped his gaze over. That hadn’t been a question. “What?”

Bane’s head gestured to the jungle, to the heady silence, to the hollow pause.

“…Yes.” Another shudder. It was the Force that told him things weren’t right; so why did Bane know…?

But the man didn’t elaborate. He left the bikes and began to hustle down the hillside, sliding quietly through muck and foliage. Obi-Wan began to squelch after. His heart beat harder and faster.

A crackle in the distance suddenly came from behind… a groan of creaking trees.

It… whatever it was… was close. That was worth the adrenaline of ten platoons of battle droids.

Bane stopped them at the western edge of the blue energy barrier as a patrol passed, just under a watchtower’s blind spot. A carcass of some four-legged grazer lay nearby. It had sustained a messy shot to its throat, probably a potshot from bored security—in fact, more than one dead animal seemed to be near this compound’s perimeter. Rot had already set in, cracking its curved horns and dulling its once-beautiful auburn fur. “Wasteful idiots.” Bane toed its limp head to the side. Just the simple prodding set it leaking, stench almost unbearable. Why Bane did that action a second time was anyone’s guess.

Obi-Wan sighed and covered his nose. He agreed, but personally, he was eager not to join the poor animal’s fate.

Bane then took an open vial from his belt and tossed it to the ground nearby, a clear liquid soaking the earth. He turned and knelt quickly by the fence, regarding it, fumbling for tools in his bag. A gizmo box came up in his hands that emitted a soft crackle and whine: a sort of undulating frequency. “Prefer havin’ a droid do this,” he grumbled.

“What?”

“How I broke into the Jedi temple.” _That_ certainly grabbed Obi-Wan’s attention. “Fences are just energy cycles. And unlike yers, this was set up by someone _sloppy_. Resonatin’ too slow; too much distance between generators.” The way he watched that electric blue, unblinking, perhaps he was absorbing data only those peculiar eyes of his could process. But then, with a cautious touch, he extended the box’s antenna to its surface.

A harmonized chime chorused through the wavelength, and Bane jerked, an arc of energy passing over him in a tide. He held fast, grimacing, shaking.

Then a _hole_ began to warp through the field.

Obi-Wan wished he wasn’t impressed. He truly did. He’d almost been certain someone was about to get blown into the upper atmosphere.

“Move,” the man snarled. He gathered himself and hopped through, face muscles convulsing still from the energy wave. He seemed careful not to touch the edges of this hole. Obi-Wan mimicked that care as he followed after.

Troublingly, however, their door didn’t close behind them. “Someone’s going to notice that.”

“That’s the point.” Bane drew his guns, shaking off his pain. “Start moving to the compound. Keep to the edge, close to the fence. That stinkin’ carcass and the pheromones I dropped are goin’ to pull the—”

A tree cracked and fell behind them, dreadfully close, a roar sounding in the night.

Obi-Wan’s heart sank—he hit the ground near the bushy crop. Search lights were snapping to their break-in point.

And a mammoth rancor suddenly burst from the wilderness.

The guards screamed, setting off all the blaring alarms—this was no young thing. Looming, its maw opened like it would consume them all and perhaps most of the tower’s base in one chomp. Saliva poured over its fangs. It screeched, scooped up the dead creature outside the fence breach, and consumed it whole. _Crunch! Schlop!_ Didn’t even spit out the bones.

“Well,” Bane said calmly, mutually crouched in the dark. “Distraction’s here.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”

The guards’ burning blaster volley over the fence only seemed to rile the monster. It twisted its lolling, massive head, howling in anger. Its vomit-brown arm shot through the hole, falling short only because its bulk wouldn’t let it entirely fit. The barrier sizzled around its mass, widening as it began to wrench itself through, its grasping, taloned fist sowing huge furrows in the earth.

Claws missed Obi-Wan by inches.

The fence strained and smoked. The pylons groaned; the question was only whether they or the beast had a greater will.

Bane spun on his heel and tore off, and his companion followed before this could get much worse.

“A RANCOR HAS BREACHED THE FENCE!” an intercom bellowed. “A AND B SQUAD! A RANCOR HAS SOMEHOW BREACHED THE FENCE!”

Obi-Wan wondered if he ought to feel sorry for the behemoth when he heard another chorus of blasters lighting up the night behind him. But the rancor simply bellowed like it was only getting angrier. No, it was going to take care of itself just fine. And so would he, hurtling through the fields, dancing over exquisitely valuable Nysillin bulbs, crouching low in the shadows as best he could.

Then, to his left, just past the fence border… another copse of trees suddenly crackled and fell.

_You’ve got to be—_

And a _second_ rancor burst from the jungle.

Bane at least had the good grace to look startled and displeased at this. The thing screeched and _slammed_ itself against the fencing, directly at them as they tore past. The energy field held, shocking it back, but the pylons groaned and sparked under the strain.

“This is your _lighter touch?!_ ” Obi-Wan panted as he kept up, feeling like this… this was an Anakin idea. All Anakin. Perhaps this was a suicide mission without this _local help_ , but it was madness!

The sound of missiles began resounding from behind now. Obi-Wan did not look back. It might take more missiles than he would like to take one of these things out, but the second rancor was more his concern—it just picked itself up and started following them in parallel, periodically scrabbling at the wall, teeth gnashing and barrier tech squealing.

Unfortunately, someone would notice these things had a target. The plan to quietly use some mind tricks was about to change. As they came up on the central building and a second watchtower, ruby-hued rifle shots started to lance down on them from up above. _Blast!_ Fortunately, Bane had chosen a route that was fairly sheltered by irrigation piping and equipment, and the shots sizzled into that instead of their hides.

The mercenaries paused their efforts after a moment of this, switching between trying to flush out their intruders and lobbing more shots over the fence.

The second rancor didn’t seem to mind.

But this… was not a situation that would last.

“How strong were those pheromones?” Obi-Wan stopped and hunkered down, pinned by the blasters and gauging the path forward. Bane didn’t answer. He reached to his waist, his fingers coming back damp. “ _Did the vial leak on you?! Is that why we have this second one?_ ”

“…Hrm.”

Well, that was just _great_.

The beast charged the barrier yet again. An angry shockwave scorched it. The pylons began to whine and smell of sharp, hot ozone.

And six gunmen, a mix of Trandoshans and Rodians in black combat uniforms, suddenly came streaming out of the watchtower’s base. “Surrender!” the lead roared, yellow lizard-face twisting into a bloodthirsty snarl.

No way forward. No way back. The mercenary team advanced. A stun shot hurtling just past Obi-Wan’s head made his left ear go entirely numb.

Bane gave him an unimpressed, challenging stare. A memory came rushing back: “ _Ye Jedi aren_ _’t worth a pot of piss without yer little light swords!_ ”

“I’m going to do something,” Obi-Wan snapped, “Because I don’t want to die. And that is the only reason I am saving this situation and you!”

The smirk he got in return was entirely too self-satisfied.

Knowing he’d been goaded and lamenting that, Obi-Wan extended his arms. The mercenaries suddenly found their guns wrenched from their grasps and flying skyward. A few began to shriek in Huttese—goodness knew, most of these people had probably _never_ come across a Jedi. They were _not_ prepared for this on their backwater get-rich-quick scheme.

Bane stepped into the paralyzed confusion and shot each of them as they tried to break for cover. Four went down. Two gamely took the hits to their armor and turned to run. Obi-Wan lifted them too, flinging them together. Heads cracked. They slumped to the earth.

The rancor bellowed just behind them through the fence, lathering in its frenzy, smelling the blood now. It charged the barrier again and again with every last measure of its dread-weight.

And with a wrench, squeal, and buzz… the energy field blistered apart all down the line and back. Generators whined and caught fire, sizzling and arcing lightning around that thick monster-hide.

The rancor wasn’t even fazed, those stinking fangs dripping with saliva as it advanced. Its sickly golden eyes lolled, and the walls fallen, it swiped. Those freakishly long arms and claws gashed the back end of Obi-Wan’s cloak, but he tore free.

Fangs baring, Bane vaulted back, just out of range as a second swipe took out the central irrigator. Water pistoned out in furious streams. He engaged rocket boots and soared back and up into the air, out of reach.

Well! Someone had been secretly shopping on Tatooine, and Obi-Wan was suddenly very resentful he had not been provided the same. He channeled the Force into his legs and tried to bound back and away.

Eight more mercenaries were coming out of the tower now. Yet, these newcomers froze—clearly, they had not been prepared for the rancor welcome committee. Obi-Wan saw Bane reach the same conclusion he did at the exact same time, as the monster bellowed and charged, as the mercenaries opened fire:

They were pinned between, and the only way out was _up_.

Bane shot heavensward as Obi-Wan leapt. And as he seized the edge of the tower’s wall with desperate fingertips, he heard a wet crackling down below.

…It took several moments more for the mercenaries’ screaming to stop.

The stomping and thrashing and chewing continued regardless.

Breathing hard, bent on survival, he heaved himself up further up the tower’s side, back and arms wailing. If he hadn’t had the Force with him, he never would have made it on these thin slices of footholds. A glance over his shoulder saw more squadrons of mercenaries far away: in transports, firing guns, splitting their attention between the two rancor breaches. The fence’s downfall had entirely freed the first too. It seemed to be flagging, bleeding and burned by heavy weaponry, but then it picked up an entire armored vehicle and tossed it.

Some mercenaries seemed to be acting as if they might really not be paid enough for this. A few of the transports started to turn and flee the compound _entirely_.

A vengeful bellow below made him look down. The second rancor had finished feeding. It was now casting its gaze upwards.

_How much can it eat?!_

The answer seemed to be _at least one more,_ judging by its glare.

He resumed his climb in all haste.

But the tower shuddered and screeched as massive claws dug in, _as the thing attempted to follow_.

Obi-Wan finally heaved himself up onto the summit’s balcony. Bane was there already, of course—he’d dispatched the two remaining guards at their stations, and now, he was letting blaster bolts fly off the side with a stolen rifle. His shots were so coldly taken and steady, Obi-Wan could sense each death struck in the chaos down below.

The tower shook and rattled, though Bane stuck to his grisly task with singular intent. “What’s goin’ on?!”

“Rancors… climb.” Obi-Wan caught his breath.

“ _They do not._ ”

The beast was actually making terrifyingly quick progress, he sensed, its sinewy, overstretched limbs audibly crumpling the panels it seized and made into better handholds. But from how the balcony jutted… he couldn’t see it well.

Regardless, Bane smirked in triumph, taking three more blasts at the mercs before righting himself. “They’re all runnin’ now! Barely any damage to the fields!”

“Lovely! We have a bigger problem!” Finally, the rancor had gotten close enough to glimpse at least part of its hulking mass. It had completed half of its mad clamber to the sky.

“Hm. Yeah. It’s… climbin’,” Bane agreed tonelessly.

“Oh, I’m glad you recognize that. That is _very_ helpful.” Obi-Wan grabbed a nearby pistol on the ground and fired off a few blasts trying to reach the monster’s heaving, panting maw. They blackened and bubbled the thing’s backside. That didn’t even faze it. It bellowed and kept going. “I’m going to ask one more time: how strong were those pheromones? Will it wear off?”

Bane’s eyes narrowed. “…Not fast enough. Every rancor in the next klick’ll be headed this way.”

“Are you serious…?!” Obi-Wan choked on what he was going to say, both flabbergasted, horrified, and… actually, slightly amused. Then he kept shooting. _Could_ this gun even find this thing’s brain? It’s steel-thick hide…! This awful angle…!

Bane set his hat aside and tipped himself and the rifle over the tower’s railing, firing, holding on with just his legs. High-powered blasts, the only ones with a chance, punched the beast’s flesh. Took out an _eye_. A golden burst of gore washed over the thing’s face.

The rancor howled in agony and started climbing faster.

“Blast!” Bane hauled himself back up and threw the rifle aside, its charges spent.

“You made it worse!”

“ _I can see that!_ ”

“Grenades?”

Bane was clearly ahead of him, as two were leaving his grasp right that second. They hurtled down. On impact, they detonated, but the rancor surged up further regardless, the explosions scorching only its toughened skin.

Bane turned to stare. “…I… disabled the lift. To stop anyone else from comin’ up behind me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, considering that shuttered avenue. Perhaps he could have jumped, but the rancor’s long arms could likely snatch him from midair. He had nothing with which to dissuade this creature. It was so full of hormones and rage and hunger that there was _nothing_ that might soothe it.

But Bane… he had rocket boots. He could just leave a Jedi to die. Save his own skin. Even if the rancor was inclined to follow the pheromones that had clearly whipped it into a frenzy, it was never going to let _any_ of its prey go. He sensed that very well.

Bane’s head was tilting, judging angles of flight. Yes. He’d try to break for it.

The rancor sang its brutal cry one last time, triumphantly, as it seized the balcony with its dagger-fingers. The platform shuddered.

But Bane… he didn’t leave. He just returned his long, disconcerting stare to his captive. “Take off yer boot!” he roared.

“ _What?_ ”

“TAKE OFF! YER BOOT!” A blue finger pointed like an angry sword.

The rancor’s stinking, loathsome talons curled tight. The thing gave one last scream as its beady eye and socket crested the climb, as it found its prey with nowhere left to run.

Understanding, Obi-Wan tore away his straps and flung his footwear to the side, wrenching his slave collar over his ankle. Bane snatched it. A flurry, those articulate fingers flew over a wrist com. The cheerful green light on the collar flickered orange.

Began to blink red.

The rancor lunged.

And Bane hurled the collar with all his might. Down the thing’s throat, it detonated. Flesh and blood and effluvium and _teeth_ burst out in a concussive wave. The explosion knocked Obi-Wan back, hurtled him against the railing. Bane tumbled beside.

Ringing ears. A fuzzy world.

Lifting his spinning head, Obi-wan lay bruised, soaked. The tower dripped with yellow goo. Stinking. Sour. He reached up and wiped his face. All he could see was the carcass and little bits of cranium—though the rancor clung tight to the top regardless, back half swinging in the breeze.

Disgusting. Everything was… disgusting. Obi-Wan’s stockinged foot squished against the platform as he tottered up. The fluid was going _between his toes_.

And all Bane seemed to have wary eyes for was his untethered companion. He rose, one pistol palmed.

Obi-Wan itched like mad and was at the end of his tolerance. All he could do was drip and croak: “If you’re honestly thinking I’m about to take you out, well, _I_ don’t even know what I’d do after that, stuck in this jungle with more of those things.”

Bane spat at the ground. Eurgh. It seemed rancor slime had gotten in his mouth. “Yeah. You _are_ stuck. Keep that in mind.” He gave a long warning glare before once more holstering his weapon. “Now. Let’s get what we came fer.”

Obi-Wan tried to swipe the gore from his hair, from his hands. Part of him suspected he’d never be clean again. “… _Very well_.”

* * *

Inside the compound was startlingly easy to manage, in comparison. After word came that the vast majority of the security forces were dead or in the wind after two blood-soaked bounty hunters had led a charge of rancors out of the jungle, well…

The remaining staff seemed largely content to give up.

As Bane went to secure the place in full, Obi-Wan spent his efforts corralling frightened scientists and agricultural specialists. They were more than happy to surrender their weapons and be stowed in the facility’s brig until they could be questioned by the proper people. Some of them professed, in fact, to how happy they were to be rescued from their incompetent mercenary overseers… glory be to Black Sun and all that.

It was hard not to have mixed feelings about accepting their gratitude on behalf of the syndicate. Obi-Wan didn’t particularly like using his powers of diplomacy to convince them to waltz into a jail cell until a load of underworld bosses could evaluate them for loyalty, but there was nothing else he could do to improve their situation. He also didn’t much care for Bane’s cheerful sneer throughout.

“Look at _you_ ,” the man said upon his return. “Disarmin’ the whole technical crew. Not a single one dead to short the reward. Ye’ll make a hunter yet.”

That gave Obi-Wan hives. So while Bane verified their detention solution was up to his personal satisfaction, he shook his head and moved on.

After all, there was nothing keeping him from wandering anymore.

These corridors were quiet and flawlessly checked. A couple bodies littered the floor… likely higher-up security who’d known their lives were forfeit and had decided to fight. And Bane? Well, he would have wrapped that up quick and clean. Obi-Wan closed the eyes of one dead gunman with respect and undid his armor, then accessed the locker he’d died near. Here lay the man’s gear, a spare uniform and everything. It wasn’t covered in stinking rancor flesh. A man _needed_ clothes like that.

He still didn’t like getting them in this way.

But as he searched for a closet to get changed in, he made an absolutely historical discovery. His one regret was that his oh-so-pleasant companion slunk up from behind at the same time he made it, and he wouldn’t get it all to himself.

 _Showers_ , read the sign on the door.

Also mud and slime from head to toe, Bane rasped, “Ye know, I’ve comm’d Black Sun, and the place is locked down. Not a single other life sign here is unsecured. Except _you_ , I suppose.”

“I see.”

The truce was silent and clear.

Obi-Wan shoved inside, Bane followed. The lights flickered on—it was a big room, stained by hard water and steam. Quite the same sort of situation as one might find in most military accommodations: cheap, efficient, quasi-public bathing. There were stalls, over which one’s head would be quite visible.

Bane breezed right on past and picked a shower, tossing his ammo and gun belts onto a nearby hook. He cranked the water before his clothes even started coming off. Obi-Wan averted his eyes. The man hadn’t even closed the door yet.

“I’ve got backup methods of dealing with ye if ye try anythin’,” Bane growled.

Yes… one could assume. Collar or not, he was still an unpredictable and clever man. Regardless, right now, that wasn’t Obi-Wan’s objective in the least—he just quietly took another stall as far away as he could get, content to keep _that_ problem at arm’s length for five more minutes. His neck prickled as he stripped.

Bane likely would watch his stall the entire time.

Paranoid bastard.

Obi-Wan turned and reached for his own water spigot, kicking his trousers into the corner and toeing aside his salvageable boots. Down the stream came, like a shock. Rivulets of blood and grime began to drip from his body, circling the drains. He gently scrubbed his scars. His bruises. His scalp, itching and angry, and his face, stubbly and slime-coated, all the bio-film and desperation and pain.

This water was so clean. It soothed and refreshed rather than worming into pores and sowing rashes, unlike the native rain. He… almost wept, trembling with relief, and he didn’t understand why.

Yet he never forgot he was watched. He was glad he’d taken a new outfit, so when he was done here, he wouldn’t have to get ogled while wearing just a towel and some confidence.

As for Bane’s current doings… every so often, he would hold up a piece of his gear to the light, wiping it down, wetting it again. Meticulous. _Just so_. Fair, one might suppose, for getting rid of rancor pheromone. His blotted bruises were starting to heal all along his bared shoulders, and the haggard deterioration of prison and fugitive life… it seemed to be slowly leaving him. Even those razor-edge cheekbones were starting to fill out. He still seemed so sharp… untouchable. Obi-Wan found it hard to believe he’d actually known that body intimately, knew a glimpse of how it coiled and breathed and held close.

Still, that night hadn’t belonged to Jedi Master Kenobi.

Best to focus elsewhere.

Bane suddenly slid his head to the side, gaze narrowing—as if he just _knew_ , and was probably peeved because his own staring at least had the courtesy to be indirect. “What? Ye wanna help me out in here or somethin’?”

Obi-Wan pretended he was looking for something along the wall. “ _No_.”

A huff permeated the running water. It was hard to tell if it was annoyance or vague disappointment, and Obi-Wan’s ears warmed beyond his sunburn. Whatever treacherous curiosity and mortification that was entwined in his chest tensed and swelled hot.

 _Best to leave. I can. This arrangement is now on_ my _terms as well._ The only thing keeping him bound was his lack of transportation off a deadly world that would like to consume his very bones. That might have been a lot…

…But it wasn’t everything.

Levitating a towel from a rack, he shut off the water, dried himself, and gratefully slipped on the guard’s clothes—soft, breathable cotton with a black leather overcoat. All-weather. Clean. The metallic chest, shoulder, and shin guards alleviated his sense of vulnerability. He smiled, patting his neck dry too, feeling the angry swelling from before already lessening considerably. 

“Hrm. I stand by sayin’ that yer lookin’ more and more like a bounty hunter,” Bane drawled, the sentence just slinking across the room. Steam rose around his head.

“…Don’t start. There’s only so much you can make me put up with right now.”

“Just sayin’…” That gaze was laser-locked. “Most Jedi don’t go for the leather.” It sounded like _LEH-der_ when he said it, accent chuckling around the word.

Obi-Wan tensed. “It’s what was here!” It was hard not to become increasingly conscious that a likely-naked man was evaluating how suitable these tight pants were.

“Yeah, but usually that’s _my_ t’ing. Should I be flattered? We’re gonna match.” Bane wasn’t even blinking, a snake observing him, up, then down, over and over.

“ _It_ _’s what was here_. Don’t you have an oversized hat to finish wiping?” Obi-Wan couldn’t take any more and simply left. He quickly hustled on down the hallway, inner core almost vibrating with tight, frustrated, crackling tension. His steps came louder and faster, a shiver _again_ in his bones. His neck hairs still wouldn’t lie flat.

How had that truly been more unsettling than all of the crude conversation on Tatooine? This had been nothing compared to that, and the collar of forced obedience was gone on top of it, and _yet_ …

It felt like a hot knife in his veins.

Up was creeping the sudden, sneaking notion that despite absolutely hating him, despite wanting to embarrass, mock, and generally make him miserable, despite now having _far_ less of an advantage…

Bane might also genuinely want to bed him again to prove some kind of point.

What better way to embarrass him further, really?

The communications center was well-marked, the door opening only after a little Force persuasion of the locks. It seemed Bane had password-guarded the terminals, probably after sending a message to Black Sun.

There was time to work through that problem.

These weren’t the best sorts of transmitters, though. Too short-range. Hm. Obi-Wan experimented with a few toggles, getting familiar with what he was working with. He didn’t have the parts necessary to tune this rig into the Republic’s favorite frequencies… but he might get through to a small local outpost… and there were several on Felucia. They might pick up on a brief, coded signal from this locale.

As long as someone was listening, they could pass on his message, all the way up to the Council even.

The system blinked angrily at him after he’d tried a couple passcodes. _Xanadu Blood. LL-30. Hrmm_ _… Pure Sabacc! …And… no._

He tried a few others, but whatever Bane had set, it was probably as inscrutable as he was. Any more and the system would lock down entirely.

And then, a tingle ran up his spine. Movement darted in the shadows. Tense, he lowered his stance.

A whir answered: a soft beep and clatter from behind one of the consoles.

Obi-Wan relaxed. Oh: a droid! It was just a little astromech, red and white, dome dented and incomplete.

“Well. Hello there, little one.”

It bleeped nervously and rolled backwards under a desk.

“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A wavering whine answered.

“Yes, yes, I know. But it’s alright. The unarmed weren’t hurt here. I made sure of it. I never even wanted to fight this battle.”

Slowly, slowly, the astromech wheeled into the open. Obi-Wan put a soft hand on its cranium. Its lenses spun, taking him in, an interfacer extended from its chassis.

“Ah,” he said. “I suppose you’re here to do maintenance?” It quickly shuttled the repair device away, like it might get in trouble. “No, no, that’s great! I could actually really use your help.”

“ _BeeWOOP?_ ”

“See, the man I came here with, he’s not really the most pleasant company. He locked down the consoles. Surely him doing that is against your protocols. Perhaps you might unlock them.”

“ _BeeDEEP,_ ” it affirmed, cheerful, like it very much agreed. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan was glad to have a sympathetic synthetic around—and one which probably had a slicing parameter or two, having been in the employ of a crime family. Indeed, it only took the little guy a few minutes of clicking, beeping, and tinkering, but the consoles lit up once more.

“Thank you!” Obi-Wan hurried to his work. Bane may have been really taking his time in the shower—who would have thought him occupied so much by cleanliness?—but even rancor sludge couldn’t keep him gone forever.

The droid made a little congratulatory sound and wheeled away again to parts unknown, and Obi-Wan let it go, considering the frequencies before him. A few adjustments and… ah. Ok. There was nothing coming through this new channel, but it appeared to be open for anyone listening.

He couldn’t send much. The truth was, he wasn’t asking for a rescue. How would he best explain this situation? Inform the Council he was alive, but wanted no one sent? That he was _curious?_ That he wanted the chance to figure this out and to trot Bane back to prison _after his curiosity was satisfied?_

No, the rest of the Council might overrule such a request. They respected the Force, but vague feelings and visions had their limits, especially when coming from hostiles who had no business with the Force in the first place.

And Anakin would almost certainly launch another pursuit, if too many details were given. In another life, the Knight might have been a formidable bounty hunter himself.

Given that: if Bane was re-captured too soon, he’d never talk. Never reveal anything he knew, like all the hideaways and back doors that led to the Separatists… and the Sith.

Dooku, in these supposed dreams… 

There was something here. Something that tingled in the back of Obi-Wan’s brain, like the unseen energy that guided his life wanted him to tip his hand with only the utmost care.

 _This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,_ he tapped out. _Please convey to Coruscant I am alive and well. I am investigating a situation, and cannot disclose details over this frequency. I will return as soon as I can_.

And off that beamed, vague and insufficient, carried on the backs of silent apologies. But it might reassure them, at least. Might give him time.

He heard too late the soft click of boots on the floor. Bane had arrived at some point—a fully-dressed, smirking shadow against the wall, damp and inscrutable. A blaster was in his hand. How on earth he hadn’t so much as raised any cautionary neck hairs, Obi-Wan didn’t know.

But based on the man’s keen look, he’d had some fair idea of where his personal Jedi had gotten up to from the moment he’d left the showers.

Bane seemed to reach some internal conclusion. The blaster was reholstered. The toothsome smile was not. “Took ye less time than I thought it would for ye to get in here. And even less time to crack the system.” He was watching the screen, where the relayed message had flashed. “So yer _that_ curious about what’s goin’ on, eh?” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent conversation aching.

The captive had been let off his chain, yet did not act.

The captor had lost his skewed power dynamic, yet did not strike.

And in that yawning gap between them lay… _personal_ matters. A powder keg.

“I’m not goin’ back to prison,” Bane hissed matter-of-factly. “I’ll fight ye harder than _ten_ rancors.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan sighed. The agreement was an acceptance, a truce, and an acknowledgement that when this ended, there would be blood.

Bane’s teeth clicked. “Then it seems as good a time as any to revisit our contract.”

“…Perhaps we should.”

It was as if neither wanted to be the first to name their price. But finally: “Dooku has somethin’ he owes me,” Bane allowed.

Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat. “You _legitimately_ are trying to go after him.” He knew Bane wasn’t the kind for jests, but neither was he the kind to do something suicidal.

“Tch. Not openly. I’m not stupid. But I _will_ collect. Might be some advantage to yer side in this little war of yers.”

“Oh?” Two things roiled in Obi-Wan’s stomach—apprehension at the clear danger and a wild curiosity about this utter gall.

The man’s shoulders squared up, eyes giving a wary gleam. “Ye don’t gotta know everythin’. But once I’ve got the capital to secure a few items, I need yer skills for one, _particular_ step.” His fingers came together in front of his chest. “See, I know where one of Dooku’s secret installations is, and that’s where I’m goin’. Ye can help me get in. There’s some _intel_ there, I believe, that ye might find… interestin’.”

“What sort?”

“Separatist research, weapons and the like.” The right corner of his lip tugged in a brief smirk. “We wrap up two or three jobs together… then, we go there, get what I’m after. Ye trot off back to yer Order with all those nice secrets in yer head, all safe and sound. Dooku won’t know who did him wrong. And me, I walk off a lot happier and set than I was a month ago.”

That skipped through Obi-Wan’s brain, rattling through the paces. “I see you’re no longer planning on ransoming me back.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to the coin, if yer agreeable.” A dark chuckle followed.

“…Absolutely not.”

“Tch.”

What an interesting proposition. Intelligence like this might be the only thing in the galaxy that even the council might pause and consider.

Such a canny hunter.

It was, of course, incredibly big talk: just as Bane’s reputation would dictate. The fact that he was often able to back it up was the sticking point.

“A unique offer. Are we going 50/50 for any reward money encountered along the way?”

A snarl. “What? _No_.”

“Then it’s 60/40?”

The man let that slide through his icy brain for a full five seconds. He pinched his brow. “Yer kriffin’ with me.”

Obi-Wan was. But all the same… “I do have to eat. Maybe I won’t want rations or rat every day.”

One could have fried a breakfast on that glare, but it also came with a clear look of understanding of the game they played, a grudging sort of respect. “80/20, me the 80, given that I’m supplyin’ transportation, gear, leads, and _almost everythin_ _’ else_.”

Well. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t really need the credits, but this confirmed Bane’s unique principles of fairness. It… also made him wonder if this arrangement was _always_ the goal. If the slave collar had only been meant to buy enough time to force him to evaluate the situation and turn the talk to _business_. “You know I can ditch you at any time now, if this turns out to be a waste of effort,” he reminded. “And I can defend myself.”

“Of course ye can.” That chin tilted down, guarded, impatient. “So can I, in ways I don’t t’ink ye’ve calculated. I still hate yer guts, Kenobi. Don’t forget that.”

Obi-Wan paced a few steps, rubbing his scratchy chin. _Stay the course,_ the Force still sang in his heart. “I believe this would be an acceptable deal… for now,” he finally spoke, trusting it, letting it guide him, even through the dangerous unknown.

Bane didn’t offer to seal this bargain with a handshake either. That was just as well—frankly, Obi-Wan would have found the stun gloves suspicious. The man just shrugged, tipped his hat, and gestured to the door behind him—a sort of, _let_ _’s get on with it then_.

Jaw tightened, Obi-Wan complied. It was a cramped space. His companion’s scent and warmth enveloped him as he passed. The only way to ensure they didn’t touch would have been to delicately wince along—unacceptable—so he let his shoulder brush his former captor tersely in that narrow passage, let himself not be so cowed as to flinch.

The man didn’t try to touch him back. Said nothing.

But a rumble came from his chest, a resonating _purr_ that burrowed under skin and bones. Perhaps it was a chuckle, but whatever it was, it melted out of that throat like warm oil.

Obi-Wan felt that sound burn, sinking into his stomach.

 _Partners_.

He wished he could say that this new arrangement didn’t give him a little thrill, like he’d felt while being rough-and-tumble Hardeen, like he’d felt when he’d wagered everything on a really good hand of sabacc.

He tried to remind himself he’d lost that game.

He kept walking, not looking back.

* * *

Black Sun’s representatives arrived in a large transport with massive aerial guns that drove any remaining megafauna back into the trees. A small green Rodian woman in a silky blue blouse was the first to disembark, flanked by numerous thugs. Her datapad held her star-laden eyes exclusively. The two men waiting for her on the ground earned little more than a glance as several crew members hustled into the facility to inspect matters.

“Our scans show everything seems to be in order,” she said primly, only hesitating a little as she glanced at the guard tower. Half of a rancor dangled there still. “Particularly the crop, as requested. How many of the staff are still alive?”

“There’s seven inside from the technical crew, and five growers, plus at least one droid,” Obi-Wan volunteered. “All insisting their loyalty to you.”

“We will verify.” She tapped a few buttons on her datapad. “Yes. Yes. Incoming preliminary reports on facility functioning seem positive. Less damage than expected. Very good.” Her tubed lips pursed tighter, regarding Obi-Wan’s face. “You are another bounty hunter?”

“He’s with me,” Bane intoned, sidling up to command attention.

“Ah. I see. You must be Cad Bane. Your reputation precedes you, and your results are inarguable.” Her green fingers designated a few additional commands to her device before gesturing impatiently at a human girl coming down the landing ramp. “I’ve just sent you details for an additional job my superior would employ your services for.” She snapped something behind her in Rodese that clearly meant, _Hurry it up!_ The assistant jogged closer, wielding a briefcase thick and heavy. As the young girl converged with the group, she opened it.

Inside lay a gleaming array of credits, enough to keep some families afloat for years.

Bane’s gaze flickered over the reward, and he nodded as it was transferred over to his waiting grasp—a casual gesture, almost perfunctory, like he hadn’t just risked his life to get his hands all over that bounty. “Ye’ll be hearin’ from me soon.” He tipped his hat. “Pleasure doin’ business with ye.”

The Rodian nodded curtly and hustled away, likely off to her assignment. The heckled assistant scrambled after to keep up.

The container rested against Bane’s side as he began bearing a course back to the jungle. He was smiling.

Obi-Wan strode after, tired. “You’re not going to count it up or anything?”

“In front of them?” He sneered. “No. They’re good for it.”

“…Okay, well… they could have at least given us and the speeders a quicker ride back to the village. Out of the muck, flooded rivers… and the local wildlife, perhaps.”

“No. Ye do the job and ye get outta the client’s face.” Bane gave him a surprised glare. “Yer all poetry and no common sense, Kenobi. Nothin’ out here’s fast enough to catch the speeders anyhow.”

Obi-Wan sighed, bracing himself for the trek back. He hopped over a particularly pungent chunk of rancor meat. Ugh. “Well, count out my share before we leave the planet. I’m buying some real food at the village before we leave.”

“…Fine.”

“Maybe I’ll convince one of the village grannies to let us join a big dinner with her family.”

Fangs bared. “ _No_.”

“You sure? They might even want to tell us stories about their children. Maybe sing a few songs and play some games.” Obi-Wan could swear he heard teeth grinding. “Oh, sorry, Bane. Too bad you can’t blow me up anymore.”

“ _I can shoot ye._ ”

Chuckling, Obi-Wan knew the threat had no choice but to be empty. “Promises, promises.”

* * *

The village was small and sleepy as before, even fewer out and about. Perhaps they were getting extra hours of rest while the weather finished its tantrums. The light drizzle felt like a maelstrom stretching its muscles before its encore performance.

Obi-Wan was quite glad to leave while the leaving was good.

The village elder bought back the speeders quite cheerfully for a lesser cost, seemingly happy to have made the matter a rental. Supplies were purchased. Obi-Wan obtained an all-weather cloak of his own too, one made of a smooth and shiny brown wool—not as fine as Bane’s, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to use the man’s gear forever.

A strange energy had caught light around his new… _partner_ … actually, and Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure he trusted it. It didn’t quite come off like either aggression _or_ joy. Bane’s stride was slinkier. His snips faster. In fact, his eyes almost glowed with whatever internal charge was sweeping through him—like being alive nearly made him purr again.

It was probably the massive case of credits he was cradling close as a newborn. That would fit.

Obi-Wan only got an inkling of the extent of this mood as he stood alone under an awning, waiting for the man to finish his own brief transactions with the locals. He removed Bane’s fine rain cloak up over his head, intent on replacing it with his own. The humid air kissed his midriff as the cloth pulled up. And when he finished the action, holding up his new attire to slip over his head, he noticed Bane’s gaze had snapped to him from across the street. Lips were pulled over teeth in a burning smirk.

And now, he was walking back.

_…Was he staring at my…?_

He had been. He had, because Obi-Wan recognized the look, and with that came understanding. The first time he’d seen that face, it was after they’d defeated the Box and gone on to Coruscant. That expression had dealt him a hand of sabacc and asked if he liked what he saw. That face had taken in a cigarette after Strinder’s capture too, tongue flashing like it was something else getting placed between those lips.

 _He can_ _’t_ really _think I_ _’m interested!_ Besides, Duros/human encounters weren’t common _in general_ , for good reason. Most humans found their reptilian eyes and teeth unsettling, most Duros thought the whole body-hair thing was likewise off-putting, and that was that. The whole Hardeen indiscretion had been a power play at best.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably.

 _Happens more often than ye_ _’d t’ink,_ Bane had said.

Did it?

Well…

…But…

… _But_ …

This was lending credence to the theory that Bane’s overtures were genuine, despite his disgust and hatred, and Obi-Wan didn’t much care for that. Might it be a case of any port in a storm? Someone of base instincts, after going through what they had… well, the celebration after a battle was… heady. Alone in one’s bunk in the night, still flush with blood and warmth and adrenaline, one just…

Well. One just took care of it.

Bane was…

None of this was making Obi-Wan feel better. His brain quietly spun out the third time through.

And the man’s eyes were lighting him up from the inside as they traced him up and down on arrival, even if it was the briefest of moments. He suddenly realized he himself was rubbing where his neck and shoulder joined, where a shallow, toothy nip had long healed over, but its memory ran deep.

Those same disgraceful teeth slipped over thin lips. “Don’t stop on my account, if yer goin’ to show off fer the whole town.”

Obi-Wan passed the borrowed cloak back with no preamble and no acknowledgment of the mockery. “I have my own weather protection now.”

Bane chewed some thin plant stalk, accepting the item. “Good.”

There was a brush of fingers in the exchange… a careful handling of the item, clothing full of heat and scent, taken and gently placed into a bag. A slight rumble came again from Bane’s chest.

Obi-Wan swallowed and averted his eyes to the sky, ducking inside his new cloak like it was a shield. How on earth did the man’s hatred for him not override all this, unless…?

Unless it somehow just made it worse. Like a perversion. And that mutual staring in the shower must have seemed like encouragement or… or fascination, at the very least.

Never mind that it was generally good advice to be alert towards unstable time bombs.

Obi-Wan controlled his breathing carefully, well aware of the dangerous ground he edged near. “I’m going back to the ship.” As intolerable as traveling was, he would be grateful now to be in their separate, divided spaces. It wasn’t as if no one had ever looked at him like this, but… but this _situation_ …

“Right,” the man agreed, quiet, gaze dissecting him.

They returned in silence.

Obi-Wan bounded up to his assigned seating without another glance, maneuvering himself in and wondering if the harness was going to engage or if he’d be free to slouch. He adjusted himself, all uncomfortable flush.

And he looked up, only for his new partner to be on him, no time to think or react.

Vice-like into his body, Bane pressed, legs straddling and binding, pushing him up against the chair. That wiry, clever body ground in so tight, Obi-Wan’s eyes almost rolled up into the back of his head. Those teeth pricked an electric spark up his neck.

He hadn’t thought there was room for this in here. Thought himself secure. For goodness’ sake, an entire bustling village was just past those trees, and the hatch was open, and—

Bane’s articulate and deadly hand was almost gentle, squeezing him through his pants, sending a lightning quiver rocketing up every last nerve in his body. He was suddenly back in that private berth on Count Dooku’s ship, urgent and honest and in the thick of some inner storm he still hadn’t dealt with… tried simply to ignore. The sheer immediacy of the shift stole his breath.

He was entirely hard and on the threshold of a terrible decision when his brain caught up.

Ten seconds ago, he’d _known_ this was never going to happen again.

“Ye want this, eh?” That hiss came hot against his jugular, against the sensitive pulse the man was quite capable of tearing open.

Obi-Wan made a noise that was something like a _yes_ trying not to get out and something like a groan, and if he had more to add to clarify that point, it was suddenly very lost. Bane freed him and began to work his length with just one hand, deftly, quickly. It was impossible to think; after all that had happened, he was an impossible knot, and now, for one blissful moment, he couldn’t even recognize his problems.

Bane’s other hand traced fingers up his spine and inside his shirt, up to his first armor strap, pulling him close. The lightning rush from those nerves only made him buck forward in compliance. Their faces tilted into each other—Obi-Wan stopped breathing. He didn’t know what he would do if their lips met. His heart rattled. Of all the things they’d done—something like kissing, that would have forced an entirely new reality on the situation. A different word.

Maybe he would have come to his senses enough to end this now.

But Bane didn’t follow through. Maybe Duros didn’t kiss for a cultural reason, or because their lips were so thin, or because of the whole… teeth… matter. Or maybe _this_ Duros just wasn’t the type for that sort of thing. He merely braced their foreheads together. His hypnotizing eyes bore down, squinting with his smile. Just an ocean of red.

Obi-Wan came like a fool into that hand, came gasping and fighting for air, drowning in crimson.

And while he was still panting, his brain just starting to reboot, to question what he’d allowed…Bane deftly tucked him away dripping, chuckling, patting his chest. Then the man disengaged, dismounted, and was gone, asking nothing in return. He maneuvered into his own seat and slammed up the divider. The transparisteel hatch closed over their heads.

It was like the ship had de-pressurized. Obi-Wan shook, his ears ringing. He slid down in a collapsed pile.

What was he…? What on earth did he just…?

He barely knew. But his heart was pounding soft and slow, like it was bouncing against cloudstuff. Sweat slicked pleasantly down his back, wicked away by his clothes. The air felt newer somehow, tingling on his skin.

The choke of regret in his throat passed surprisingly quickly.

And the only feeling at the bottom of this well was _relief_.

He’d been walking a tightrope, trying to lie, trying to forget, trying to be disgusted… he’d wound himself to breaking, refusing to look at their past actions directly. When he did, he’d tried to distance himself from it all, tear it down.

The lie was gone now. He couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t change it.

A choice he’d swept himself up in _twice_ now.

And it had been…

 _“…Ah…”_ He softly groaned, fixing his clothes, ensuring his trousers were tightly locked up. He just pressed his face against the cold metal of the seat back. It was stabilizing, like ice to a simmering brew.

That encounter had entirely belonged to Obi-Wan Kenobi, not Rako Hardeen, not anyone else.

But was this truly a betrayal of his deepest code? There was no problematic attachment involved. No crime. No victim.

Just the enemy, just soft gasps that didn’t have to mean anything at all.

Whatever this was, binding them together, it…

_No. This can't happen again._

But his body didn’t rally in solidarity. A promise unkept once! It had no regrets. In fact, it liked this far, far more than the combat wounds and lasting scars that usually followed Bane’s arrival like an ugly shadow.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do next. He tucked his face against his arm and felt the ship take off, listlessly watching the storm-wracked sky, eventually giving way to umber twilight and then glittering void. He wondered what he’d say, if Bane let the walls come down again, if the man engaged autopilot and brought out the sabacc deck. If they’d just ignore what had happened. If the pleasantly hot pit yawning wide in his own stomach was a feeling shared.

 _Partners_.

Well.

This was a fine mess.

When sleep finally would take take him, he still wouldn’t know what he was doing.

And yet, he would doze dreamlessly, more peaceful than he’d been for nights uncountable.


	9. A Quiet Den, II

The dividers did eventually come down, but Bane didn’t speak when they did: just stayed turned in his chair, disassembling and cleaning his blasters. Obi-Wan found it extremely likely they were bound for the safe spending of their sizable reward. He didn’t bother asking where; Nal Hutta was almost certainly in the cards. Where else would a bounty hunter go for all their secretive criminal needs?

…Just like last time, then.

History did have a rather inconvenient way of repeating itself. Hopefully today, Bane could refrain from assaulting a man and getting his partners thrown in jail for it.

Obi-Wan rather hesitated to engage with him now. It was as if there were two separate, highly compartmentalized realities they operated in—one was where he himself was a Jedi Master, trying to make this situation part of his larger mission and duty, hurtling forward to gain knowledge, as was their bargain. For the Republic! And the other was where he was a bounty hunter again, in deed if not in title, where he’d fallen in so deep that he’d let himself get stroked until his brain collapsed—all by a man too dangerous and dark to ever call a friend. Those long, particular fingers, calloused from the career burns of rapid-fired power cartridges… they’d felt better than even his own.

 _Why do I_ _…?_

It almost seemed imagined, and too profane to hope to experience again.

He did anyway.

And why _Bane?_ Why _this_ spiral, this loop back into all the old places and old mistakes?

It wasn’t… well, _passion_ , in the worst of its unmindful throes—he didn’t feel the darkness, the raw righteousness of selfish need—his inner turmoil only really lay in who the act was with. It lay in wondering if this connection was some kind of attachment he hadn’t yet known, a pitfall he hadn’t been taught to recognize and avoid. It lay in wondering why, even give the option to leave, he hadn’t, not just for the knowledge, but because… considering it from this light, he realized the very possibility filled him with regret.

He didn’t even know what the regret was for. There could be many reasons.

What was Bane thinking about it all? He was laughing, probably… cleaning and oiling his blasters in that pilot chair while silently mocking the Jedi who’d lain with the Jedi hunter. After all, they’d moved right past kidnapping and servitude to pawing at each other’s belts again in record time.

Yet… Bane hadn’t asked for any sort of… return of the favor. In fact, he hadn’t even made a crude joke since he’d dropped the dividers. All there was… was silence. Like he was waiting for the other party to make the first move.

Perhaps now that he’d proven his point about a Jedi’s desires, he’d lost interest. That would be a bit of a bastard thing to do, but the man did go out of his way to live up to his name, didn’t he?

After an hour of this, slouching, considering his options, Obi-Wan finally broke the quiet. “So. I’ve considered your argument that Master Ilandi’s work could occasionally become overly—”

“Ye lasted longer than I thought ye would.” The sigh was flat, toneless.

“— _Overwrought, perhaps too flowery_ , but her middle period, when she was writing on the reflection of the Force in nature… surely you can’t argue she was anything less than minimalistic in her imagery. Her style evolved a great deal.”

The chair turned. The oil rag was set aside. Bane was reassembling his weapon now, tired around his eyes. “What _exactly_ are ye askin’?”

“…I think it’s obvious.”

“What? Ye don’t care about my… _literature_ opinions.” _Lich-ruh-chur_ was how those syllables skipped, a strangely pleasant malformation. “We both know that. Yer either so bored ye’ve gone crazy, or yer tryin’ to get information about somethin’… specific. So just ask it and save us both the time.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “…Small talk escapes you, doesn’t it?”

A _tch_ puffed between those teeth. “Why would ye want to make small talk with me, eh? What purpose does that serve? Ye want to start a reading club?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Truthfully? I don’t understand you. I don’t understand any of this.”

“Ah. So ye’ll feel better if ye bring me around to talk about somethin’ comfy, eh? Somethin’ ye _get_.”

Well, that just made it sound foolish.

Truly though, the poetry _did_ dig at him. Was it because Bane traversed on ground there too that he shouldn’t have been able to touch?

“Alright. Fine,” Obi-Wan conceded. “If you want me to stay quiet, give me something to read. Anything.”

“Only got one datapad fer now. And I’m usin’ it.” He was not.

“Then get the sabacc deck! I don’t care.”

“Oh?” A mischievous tooth glimmered. “Ye tryin’ to lose another bet? Tryin’ to see if ye’ll get lucky again?”

Obi-Wan threw up his hands. “ _No_. Just… just forget it. I’m going to sit here and make a mental list of supplies I want when we land. It will include at least a half-dozen things to occupy myself with in this awful chair until this is over.”

Bane’s thin lips puffed, unimpressed. “Ye know, ye should probably leave me in charge of yer supply list. I don’t suspect the Jedi raised ye to know what ye need for this life. Ye’ve got a lot to learn to pull off bein’ a proper hunter.”

“A lot to…? I’m only doing this until the payoff, Bane. It doesn’t suit me.”

“…If ye say so.”

That smirk said the man had just found pleasing entertainment. _Great_. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ye want me to spell it out?” His chuckle resounded.

“If it suits you.”

Those teeth clicked, like some kind of derisive argument had been baking behind them and he was tasting whether it was finished. “I don’t t’ink a real respectable Jedi would do the kind of t’ings ye’ve _done_. Or stick around for more. No, I t’ink yer fixin’ to get out of yer old life.”

The way that tongue luxuriated around those words, Obi-Wan understood the _doing_ being discussed, and it blasted a paralyzing, embarrassed heat up his spine all over again. He turned away to occupy himself with the rations.

This… this was what he got for trying to engage.

Bane kept chuckling, a deep vibration in his chest. And so help Obi-Wan, it sounded like another invitation to continue their physical conversation. His stomach flipped in a tricky pattern that he mistrusted. _Don_ _’t even look at him_.

“Yer still interested,” Bane drawled, raising a brow.

Those mocking, pulse-sensing eyes were going to be his death. “We’re not doing this.”

Bane leered. “…Ye don’t deny it.”

“ _…_ This shouldn’t have ever started happening. And it’s not happening again. Kindly: on this one subject, kriff off.”

The man just laughed, like this was the funniest thing he’d heard a Jedi say in his entire life. And it probably was. Obi-Wan felt Hardeen surfacing in that uncultured snap, that streak of wildness bubbling under his skin.

“You know,” he shrugged, feeling his dignity suffer and bleed, “I _do_ know where I stand, alright? So if all this… whatever it is you’ve been doing… is just to get me to question myself? You can stop. I know we’re _barely_ allies here. I know you originally made me your prisoner on pain of death, and you’d still put a bolt in my back in a heartbeat. Sometimes I wonder… what kind of man keeps a slaver collar just lying around anyway? Did you used to _own_ a slave? How many people have you used it on?”

Bane’s smile diminished. “Tch. Really killin’ the mood.”

“I’m not even finished. You’ve been trying to put me down onto your level for days… but what I am is a Jedi. I’m part of something bigger than myself, someone actually doing good. I’m not going to throw that away! Being what I am is a shade more fulfilling than being a selfish, lonely mercenary with _no_ home and _no_ comrades and _nothing_ worth fighting for.” He sat straight-backed and tall, and for a moment, he almost felt himself.

“Oh no. I’m _wounded_.” Bane’s gave him an exasperated sneer. “Ye know, this is all startin’ to feel a bit personal.”

“Of course it’s personal! How is this not _personal?_ ”

“Oh, because, ye don’t want me to _make_ it personal… _Obi-Wan_.” Bane straightened, drawing to his full height too, no slouch, no smirk—and deploying a first name was somehow the most intimately threatening thing he’d done in days. He inched into his companion’s space, sneering. “See, that collar, this arrangement… that was business. I’ve needed yer assistance and yer… cooperation. And yer here to get something out of it, too—don’t act like yer not. So it’s our business deal. Our transaction. But if I made it… _personal_ …” His fangs bore chillingly. “See, then I might get to t’inkin’ about how yer utterly full of it, and how much that pisses me off.” A light shove tapped Obi-Wan’s chest, forcing him into his chair’s back. “How there’s a lot ye didn’t have to do in the name of yer Jedi duty on that last mission of yers. Earnin’ my trust, sure, that was just the _job_. But have ye considered how yer _pretty, little Council_ might feel about ye going out of yer way to screw and humiliate yer enemy fer yer amusement?”

Cold mortification sat heavy in Obi-Wan’s gut. “It wasn’t… for amusement.”

“Ye sure? Near as I can tell, it was fer a pretty _selfish_ reason.” Bane shoved his companion’s chest again, harder, forcing him against the chair once more—and then his finger followed, jamming into a sternum. “Maybe ye were just _lonely_ yerself, ye self-righteous, _lyin_ _’ prick_.”

In that rumbling hiss, for a bare moment, Obi-Wan glimpsed rage again: that which he’d seen during his prison visit… during the torture and interrogation. It hadn’t evaporated, not truly… no, Bane had simply compartmentalized it, put that dangerous bomb into a box marked _personal_ before setting it aside. _And I've knocked it over while trapped on a ship with him._

“I’m not going to deny I made some poor judgments,” he said, digging in, throat dry.

Bane’s breath grew hot on his face. “Poor… judgments. _That_ _’s_ what ye call it. _Poor karkin_ _’ judgments!_ And ye wanna get on yer pedestal, actin’ like bein’ around me is sullyin' yerself, even when it’s pretty clear ye’ve got no problems usin' me to get what ye want. Don’t be kriffin’ ridiculous. I didn’t force ye into _nothin’_. Not then and not now. Ye wanna see what all this situation is about as badly as I do, or ye wouldn’t have started helpin’ me at all. Ye’d have been sittin’ in the corner and ignoring the motivation shocks ages ago, just like ye threatened.”

Obi-Wan weighed his words painfully. His throat tightened, constricted.

 _I did use him_ _…_

His stomach twisted, but once it was put that way, he couldn’t contort the picture back to the way it had been before. _Used_. It was violating, that phrasing, messily binding up their encounter and curdling it even more sour than it had felt in the first place.

Had he _really_ had no choice?

Hadn’t he been so quick to enjoy it?

If their positions had been reversed… if Bane had successfully posed as a Jedi and…

Obi-Wan suddenly realized the thought made him sick. “It’s all just business and using people for one thing or another for you, isn’t it?” Somehow, that made it worse. At least Bane might have classified their _most_ recent encounter as… a pleasant surprise, maybe, or an interesting diversion.

But no. The man chuckled darkly. There was something still buried in that glare, something as sharp and searing as any lightsaber. “Ye say that like it’s beneath ye,” he rumbled, pressing in close, two fingers coming up under Obi-Wan’s chin. “But yer flushin’ warm, and we both know it’s not. And if ye asked real nice, maybe we can keep tradin’ a nice favor or two. Modify the current arrangement.” Bane’s head tilted and pressed past his cheek, lips brushing dangerously close to his ear. Tingling breath shot conflicted warmth all through Obi-Wan’s core, all the way down to his knees. “And since I actually know who and what ye are now, it might make ye a better man than the first time around, _wouldn_ _’t it?_ ”

It was as if Bane had found the smallest, but weakest crack in his armor and thrust in his knife. _A better man_. Obi-Wan’s mind spun, his coiled, heating body responding, senses heightening despite the resurgence of shame and guilt rotting in his gut.

A long, shuddering breath left him, head cloudy.

But compounding his mistakes wasn’t going to make him feel better. He gathered himself desperately. “No.”

“No…?” Bane didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed as he drew back—he was smirking again, like this was somehow still what winning looked like.

“I’m _not_ making this a… a business deal.” Obi-Wan hated how the adrenaline and sweat had made him so warm, and in the absence of Bane’s body, suddenly made him so cold. “I’m not using you for that. That _is_ beneath me. So _no_.”

The man barked out a chuckle. “Well, it doesn’t matter to _me_. Ye know, fer a Jedi, yer real easy to wind up.” He just shrugged and spun his chair away. Wait. After all of that display, he was just going to…?

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t get famous fer my jokes.”

Obi-Wan stared, crossing his arms, bunching the fabric into tight, desperate balls. “…Insufferable…!”

Nothing answered except his cold sweat and quavering heart.

_I cannot believe I let you touch me._

That, however… it was a lie. Obi-Wan could and did believe it; it was a matter of which version of Bane he had that day and which version of himself answered. Even now, some part of him was disappointed this conversation hadn’t gone _another_ way entirely.

 _What is wrong with me?_ Bane was abhorrent. Irredeemable.

Despite his… small mercies.

…Blast. _Blast_. Blind, full-throttle mislike and disgust wasn’t Obi-Wan’s way. Even now, as put-off as he was, it was hard to entirely forget the mismatches in the man’s pattern: the medicine for bruises, the relocation of the collar when its damage was made known.

And he did keep thinking back to that collar. That awful _collar_. Slavery was disgusting in any context, perhaps one of Bane’s worst sins against him. But something more about it had troubled him from the beginning, something he’d never figured out… something that might make Bane an even crueler man than he’d suspected.

A question Bane had left unanswered.

“So _did_ you used to have a slave? Is that where the collar came from?”

A thin slice of red glare rose over the man’s shoulder. The abrupt subject change seemed to jar him to words, though his lips, they pulled back into a bitter, disgusted grimace.

“ _No_.”

Obi-Wan drew in a surprised breath. “…It seemed fairly worn, is all. Hardly something you just keep around.”

“Well, maybe I picked it up at a junk market. It’s irrelevant.”

 _Hrm_.

Odd tone.

A bit quick and defensive, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t sure why, but this was tingling in his mind. Though it had been neglected and worn, a collar of that construction didn’t seem likely at any old salvage stall. _For particularly nasty slaves,_ right? It had to have been costly.

Another odd point… Bane was _obsessive_ about things being just so. The man straightened pictures in strange bunkhouses, for goodness’ sake. He meticulously cared for his gear.

And he’d let the collar’s cushioning rot.

Let it rot, but _hadn_ _’t let it go_.

Obi-Wan had a suspicion, and he suspected he was about to get punched if he voiced it aloud.

Might get punched anyway.

Sighing, he reached out two fingers around the chair, snagging Bane’s shirt from the back, and pulled it away just a little to expose his sinewy neck.

The barest of light-blue scars did in fact run jagged there, horizontal, something that had been left neglected far too long for bacta to heal over.

Bane reacted as if attacked. He drew his blaster and spun his seat, jamming the gun into his new partner’s face. Obi-Wan just put up his hands to show no ill intent. His brain whirled.

“ _Don_ _’t remember sayin’ ye could touch me._ ”

“Was that collar… yours?”

“ _Kriff off!_ ” Bane roared and shoved him back a final time, fangs bared in fury. Obi-Wan’s back hit the chair’s, and then, the ship’s harness for captives engaged. His arms and legs were pinned and locked in an instant.

“…Sorry,” he whispered to the dividers that slammed shut in his face, and to the fury-kissed expression behind them.

Maybe Bane had the barest grain of empathy in his fevered brain after all for relocating that collar before, despite the clear risk to his own safety.

_It was yours._

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do with that.

_It was yours._

* * *

When they settled down on Nal Hutta as predicted, they did not speak, and when they left for the markets, they continued not doing so. Bane wasn’t even looking at him.

Perhaps he was still re-compartmentalizing his rage.

And Obi-Wan simply didn’t know what to do about that. It was a bridge he knew he should feel no obligation to mend, but it was over a subject which implied… terrible things… things he felt obligated to apologize over for hauling into the light.

Even if Bane would not want a Jedi’s pity.

_I don’t even know the full story; is pity really the best…?_

No. Down this road, there was only uncertainty; he could not make decisions on matters he didn’t comprehend in detail.

They had other problems, anyhow: carrying a case loaded down with credits wasn’t safe. Bane _had_ said many of his accounts had been frozen, and setting up new ones would likely take time… especially secure ones, for his anonymous, underworld needs… so they’d likely need to operate with cash for now. The solution seemed to be stashing most of their reward on the ship and locking it down. Bane just lined his pockets with a little of the coin, put on his cloak, made his blasters _incredibly_ visible, and sauntered on.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I’m going to require…”

The hatch shut behind them, and Bane did not acknowledge.

Well. Fine then. There had better be enough credits in those pockets for the both of them.

Like all terraformed Hutt holdings, Nal Hutta was slimy—the surfaces, the air, the _people_. Obi-Wan drew his cloak tighter under that sickly yellow-green sky. These threatening stares—they were likely standard on arrival; they didn’t mean anything. And sure enough, as the crowds pressed tighter and they drew towards the center of town, they became two more faceless, highly suspicious characters in a sea of thieves, mercenaries, pirates, thugs, and, so help them, the ordinary people that had no choice but to live there.

Bane seemed fluent in modern Huttese, as any traveler ought to be through the Outer Rim, and guided them quickly from signpost to signpost, evaluating vendors with a highly judgmental glance. Obi-Wan didn’t wander far. There wasn’t much around these markets that wasn’t a squirming snack, a questionable bit of salvage, or heaving ample and seductive curves as an advertisement.

A green Twi-lek woman winked at them and did just that as they walked by. “Hey boys,” she called, nodding to the neon sign above. _Dancers_ , it promised.

Obi-Wan smiled politely and shook his head. She tossed her lekku with a dramatic show of, _If you ever change your mind, we_ _’re right here._

Bane didn’t even seem to notice.

After a solid ten minutes of wandering, however, he seemed to finally make a decision, and approached a droid selling some rather used and rusting blaster mods. The thick swamp air had not been kind to the merchandise. “This can’t be all ye’ve got,” he hissed.

“It depends,” the vendor droned, cocking its chromium cranium, bits of exposed wire snaking down its back and to a nearby control panel.

“I know yer master.” Bane nodded to some symbol on the stall wall—a symbol that seemed shared by this entire row of salvage hawkers, something like two fish in a spiral. “I’m payin’ fer the good stuff.”

“…Is your associate also doing so?”

“He’s with me, so yes.” Bane said this with perfect flatness, continuing his apparent resolution to neither look at nor speak directly with Obi-Wan for any reason. Sighing, Obi-Wan simply shrugged an agreement.

The droid processed these answers, a static noise emitting from its depths. After a few seconds, one might be forgiven for thinking its logic board had malfunctioned and it needed to be restarted. However, a portly old Crolute waddled up in the lull. His yellow skin billowed and sagged on his hulking body, just like his frown. “Deetee, what are you on about—”

Then he stopped.

“Well.” He looked Bane over. “I’ll be.”

Maybe the narrowed stare Bane gave might have been a _hello_ in some universe. Obi-Wan graciously bowed his head in greeting to make up for it.

The Crolute looked over their shoulders, to the crowd beyond, then silently waggled his fingers, gesturing they slip past the stall fronts.

Back here, a narrow passage led to an alley, and there were parked the supply transports for each of the market vendors. Whoever this Crolute was, if he was in charge, he seemed to own most of the transports on this block in addition to most of the stalls. He led them on, unhurried in his waddle, as if they were there for no other reason than to help him unload cargo.

“This man’s not known to me,” he finally commented at Bane, as they reached a rather large transport that smelled distinctly briney. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect him around after this?”

“No.”

“Alright.” The Crolute turned, facing Obi-Wan. “If you’ll stay here. Do give a knock if you see anyone approach.” 

This was all quite worthy of an arched eyebrow, and far be it from Obi-Wan not to provide. “Of course.”

The cargo ship’s back slid open, the two went inside—amidst many a crate of what was _definitely_ fish—and the door shut.

Well.

So did Obi-Wan’s time begin as a lookout. It was nothing eventful, however—the minutes passed, the hustle of the main streets a distant chatter. The humidity clung tight to his cloak and the oppressive, bitter air hung stale in his throat. Several children ran past, splashing through puddles. They paid him no mind.

When Bane finally emerged, he was weighted down with three cases. The Crolute’s face was neutral behind him, though the appraising gaze he fixed on Obi-Wan was… decidedly more interested than before.

 _What did they talk about?_ This Jedi’s stomach burbled with unease.

The largest of the three cases was shoved into Obi-Wan’s chest without preamble or ceremony, almost making him stumble. Somehow, Bane managed to not look at him while doing that too. “Pleasure doin’ business with ye,” the man tossed over his shoulder, then began his march down the street.

“Hold a moment, stranger,” the Crolute said softly. Obi-Wan paused and looked up. The truck was already sealed again, the merchant stepping down. His great jowls shuddered as he did so, and so did most everything else, but he seemed to get around just fine, even so far from the ocean world he was made for.

“Yes?”

There was a sigh, a warning look to the horizon. “Have you been accompanying him long? He seems oddly… _protective_ of your interests. Hm! I think perhaps you’ll be a customer too one day, regardless of what he says. You’ve got the look about you.”

Protective? In what _galaxy_ _…?_

Obi-Wan’s stomach burbled harder.

Well, an odd line of questioning from a shady individual deserved a vague response. “Our arrangement is recent. He’s really not that fond of me. Though he’s not very fond of anyone, it seems. Not a… good-with-people person.”

“Heh.” The man gave a knowing look. “Maybe you don’t know him so well then. He’s _excellent_ with people.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, somewhat alarmed by that assessment.

“Yes, indeed. He always can judge _exactly_ the very best candidates for any given job. And he always finds a way to offer exactly what they need in return.” There was a significance in the thin smile Obi-Wan received, but it could have meant many things. “Of course, when they aren’t necessary anymore…” He shrugged. “He always returns alone.”

“…I see.”

“…You be careful is all, future customer. And you best hurry along. Long days and pleasant nights! Don’t forget: Kreegak Industries, for all your salvage needs.”

“I… shan’t forget, no.” Settling the weighty case in his arms, Obi-Wan hurried after his companion. Bane hadn’t gotten far; he seemed to be putting effort into blending in—hence, no brisk hustle that declared he was going to stab anyone lingering in his path. “Dare I ask who that was, why he was interested in me, or what we’ve just obtained?”

Nothing. It wasn’t even acknowledged.

This was starting to get a little ridiculous.

“Look,” Obi-Wan finally said. “If you don’t want to talk about the collar, I’m not asking about it. But I’m going to need communication if we’re going to work together.”

“I _am_ communicatin’.” These were the first words the man had directed at him all day. “When it’s _necessary_.”

Petty bastard. “Then how long are we staying?”

“Until we find what we need.”

“Then I’ll need my share.”

“…I’m not passing money out in the open here.”

“Fine. Then later. Where are we going after Nal Hutta?”

“Not necessary for ye to know yet.”

“Where are we going _now?_ ”

“…Not necessary for ye to know _at all_.”

“See, I’m feeling as if we’re going backwards here; I’m currently your business partner, as you might recall. Not your baggage boy, and not your slave.”

“Ye say that,” Bane deadpanned, putting a toothpick between his lips, “As if that changes how I’m goin’ to handle ye.”

Well, the man had him there.

Fortunately, it seemed as if the lure was heady of not sleeping in a starfighter another night. Bane eventually made a turn through several other alleys before stopping at what was clearly lodgings.

A bed. A real bed. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel this was the dearest reward of all, after Felucia. No one paid them much mind as a room was requested—not _two_ rooms, Obi-Wan noted, though for the sake of blending in, he did not press the issue publicly. So what if Bane wanted to keep an eye on him for now? He’d put up with it this long.

The accommodations were cheap, dank, and dim, the beds a bit lumpy and uneven. Clearly a place that took physical credits instead of account transfers, asking no questions.

_Still better than last night._

Bane set his cargo by one bunk and glanced over as Obi-Wan snapped open the large case he’d been handed. Inside, there lay a gleaming rifle: Republic make, military-grade and _highly_ illegal, enhanced scopes fresh from the factory.

Like a gift to Rako Hardeen’s dearest desires.

Startled, unsure of how to respond, Obi-Wan met Bane’s gaze. This was no knife, no joke pistol. It was a killing machine for the best, _the very best_.

“I’ve seen ye shoot with somethin’ like that before,” the man said, nonchalant. “Yer not half bad.”

No. No, he wasn’t.

“Though that was probably yer Force shite instead of real skill.”

…And _there_ was the backhand. No need to wonder where it was hiding anymore. “You think I’ll need it, then?”

“Yes.”

A shudder passed through Obi-Wan’s gut at that chilling certainty.

“…Wait. Did this come out of my share?”

“Of course.” Bane settled down, opening up his own prizes: much better-fitted armor, more durable and lightweight than what he’d been suffering with. He also had an array of gun modifications and ammunition. He immediately withdrew a small toolbox and maintenance kit from his bag, getting to work installing his new hardware.

“No armor for me then?”

“Since when do Jedi bother?”

…Fair. Obi-Wan had once donned the heavy gear of the clones, but as time had gone on, he’d needed it less and less. The play of the battlefield, the ways of the Force therein… the thick plates had simply begun slowing him down.

Commander Cody always _had_ made little comments as pieces went missing engagement after engagement. It had not eased the man’s blood pressure, seeing his General prancing around in robes instead of continuing to be the “ _one_ sensible Jedi in the Grand Army.”

Some time passed in their room. Obi-Wan showered, then inquired about being sent to handle more substantial resupplying while his unpleasant partner tinkered. It seemed Bane was finally ready to relinquish some small control in handing him credits—plus a datapad with a strict supply list—even if it was for the selfish reason of wanting him out of his face.

The feeling was mutual, though. That little, quiet den… it made a man think of boundaries crossed, of what this partnership meant. Of what their… physicality had meant, and if Bane was lying. Of the thoughts they’d sniped at one another on the ship. Of the road ahead.

_He always returns alone._

Obi-Wan eventually found his way back, supplies in tow and a proper lunch under his belt, words considered, words rehearsed. They needed to speak, if this deal was going to work. They needed forthrightness.

“I was considering,” he began, setting the rations down on the table.

“No.” The gun modifications appeared done. Shined, precisely installed, those old LL-30s seemed to have better heat sinks now, improved scopes and weighting. They’d been freshly oiled and settled on a clean cloth.

“We don’t need to speak about… the collar,” Obi-Wan hazarded.

Bane turned from his seat at the table and peered, red slits glimmering reflective in the dim. That seemed an agreement.

“But I do need to know your resentment of me isn’t going to cloud your judgment on our deal. I think it is, and it bears discussion.”

“We already discussed.” He flicked a toothpick into the waste bin. What a peculiar habit that was, his fixation on toothpicks. Perhaps it at least prevented him from constantly smoking.

“…We tend to get a bit sidetracked on that count.”

“Do ye mean the irrelevant personal questions ye always start askin’? Or the self-righteousness? Or…” He leered. “…The eyes ye keep makin’?”

“I do not make _eyes_.”

The man just stood, advancing. It was all arrogant saunter, the sort of walk he’d employed in leading Hardeen back to his room for sabacc and wagers.

A memory bubbled. A warmth.

Obi-Wan forced it down.

“Ye do,” Bane said. “And then, ye get disgusted about it, and then ye lie, and then ye piss me off.”

“When exactly was _this?_ ”

“Every few hours. Ye don’t say it. It’s in yer…” Bane just waved a hand at his body. “Doin’ it right now, even!”

“That’s ridiculous!”

The thing about Bane was that he simply didn’t seem to know how to back down; he only escalated. The man drove in close and slammed both palms to the wall around Obi-Wan, caging him in, clearly uncaring that this was a master Jedi that could have thrown him in the air, then the ceiling, then the floor within five seconds. His aura though… and all the memories that came with it… froze Obi-Wan just as firmly as they’d done the first time, even if he was steady enough not to flinch.

Bane leaned in, fangs bared, until he was so close, his partner’s nose nearly brushed his lack-of-one. “Speak honestly,” he hissed, “ _What… do… you… want?_ ”

Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t hide how his breath caught as Bane’s heat and scent overpowered him.

A memory of bucking into that hand, pinned to a starfighter seat.

A memory of being held down, driven into from behind, on fire and alive.

He knew his pupils dilated. His cheeks flushed. But they’d already established his wayward physical reactions, those shameful moments he’d clearly lost control over, hadn’t they?

They weren’t what Bane was asking about.

“I want to understand why it’s you,” he challenged, refusing to recoil or shift an inch, letting his words puff across those lips.

“Why it’s me _what?_ ” That head cocked, mocking, making it clear that yes, the man could sense all of the friction in the air, and he was content to let it boil.

“I can’t shake the sense that we’re headed into some great danger.” The uneasy cold in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind flared. The memories of brief visions, of uncertain knowings. “These dreams. These… coincidences, the way we’ve wound up here together again. There’s some larger significance, some thread, and I don’t know what it is. And through this, of all people, the Force brought me to _you_.”

“ _Tch_.” Bane gave his usual cocky smirk under his razor-sharp cheekbones. “We’re here, Kenobi, because ye couldn’t keep it in yer pants, not before, and not now. We’re here because I’m bein’ a bastard about it, and I’m really not sorry. And _yer_ here because yer not sorry either. It’s simple. Ye don’t have to bring yer religion into it.”

“Can you take this seriously for at least a minute or two?”

“Ye really want me to?” The smirk faded. If any parts of their bodies moved in even a _hair_ _’s breadth_ more… “Then why don’t ye tell me more about _yer_ dreams. Or is it only _my_ brain ye t'ink oughta be picked on that count? Since ye Jedi are so above everyone else, after all.”

“My dreams are—” Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose, unable to ascertain the angle. “You don’t have the training to interpret these things. It’s not about me being above you.”

“Well,” Bane drawled. “Suppose ye _do_ also favor bein’ _beneath_.”

Clearly, a minute or two was just too much to ask. Obi-Wan gave up, ducked under one of those tense arms, and walked away towards the window.

He didn’t really expect that this arsehole might just come up from behind and wrap about his waist, grabbing a handful. Bane yanked him close, the grind of his hips making the unspoken extremely clear. “Go on—tell me how ye’ve dreamed of me, Master Jedi.” That quiet laugh shot ice and fire through Obi-Wan’s spine, the teeth on the tip of his ear a potent reminder.

It was hard again not to flinch. His fists tightened. “You are only doing this to embarrass me and my station.”

Bane laughed again, enticingly hot breath on the back of his neck. “On the contrary… I t’ink yer a fun lay, no matter the rest. And the _second_ that collar came off… kriff, before it…”

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan managed coldly, stilling, even as his heart rioted. “I am uninterested in my encounters being akin to a business transaction. I have made that clear.”

A quiet hiss. “…I t'ink yer the one whose emotions are gettin’ in the way.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, a warm, coarse, questioning tongue suddenly, softly slicing fire behind his earlobe, making him ache. _Don’t… respond._ To say his feelings were… were _clouding his judgment_ _… him?!_ After everything?! _Because he wasn’t throwing caution to the wind on this matter?!_ He finally yanked his head aside, flabbergasted, preparing to follow with the rest of his body.

But Bane kept chuckling in his purring way, warm breath pleasant on skin, and so help him, Obi-Wan hesitated—and the way he had tucked himself in his pants, pointing upwards, those mocking fingers barely needed to do anything to brush his sensitive, swelling tip to prove their point. His traitorous body twitched right into it. “Ye can hardly t'ink straight, can ye? Ye’ve been some kind of maudlin, confused mongrel in heat, denyin’ yerself... I can’t even look at ye without seein’ it in yer warmth. How ye _breathe_ at me. It’s so…” His hips ground with need. “Ye really went without fer a long time, didn't ye? And ye can’t even get over hatin’ me fer long enough to see the sense in us comin’ to an arrangement, if it has to be like this, because ye can’t get past yer _ridiculous Jedi arrogance_. So do us both a favor and burn some of yer instincts off, even if yer too squeamish to make a deal to do it on the regular. I’m not talkin’ with ye until ye figure this out _._ I want to stop smellin’ yer ridiculous human pheromones cloudin’ me out while _I_ _’m_ tryin’ to hate ye nice and proper. Ye got that? This isn't personal. Partners can have a little extra fun and not have it be _personal_.”

Obi-Wan could barely sort the many, many indignant thoughts each line of this set off in his throat, until ultimately, he could manage one—one accusation that he could fully, truthfully deflect. “The reason I don’t do this is not because I _hate_ you. It’s—”

“Hmph!” Bane clung tighter and squeezed him insistently through his fabric, making him wince back a suppressed gasp. “Then yer not as smart as I’ve given ye credit fer. But that isn’t the point. Ye get to pick whether yer goin’ to do this with me, or by yer cold lonesome in the refresher, but yer goin’ to deal with it. And then? Yeah. _Then we can talk._ ” He undid a belt buckle, slipped his hand inside, and started to stroke. His coarse tongue scraped a soothing line behind one ear again. “Mm. Now me… I like… how ye taste…”

Obi-Wan hissed air between his teeth, despising how he ached, how he’d _been_ aching. Since Felucia. Since _before_ Felucia. Bane was right that he was a horrifically ugly and tangled ball in his mind, and none of it was healthy. None of it. He’d only recently begun examining those fathoms, and it certainly wasn’t going to be resolved in the next minute—not as he almost jumped into that palm, needing, hips instinctively pulsing even closer to the peace and release that touch offered without attachment or duty. 

What terribly simple, ruthless logic: to simply _manage_ this thing between them without fuss so it wouldn’t interfere with what had to be done.

“If ye don’t choose in fifteen seconds,” Bane hissed against his cheek, a hot threat and promise, “I’ll decide _for_ ye.”

And heart hammering, unwilling to surrender his control, Obi-Wan turned to face him. Bane paused, actually letting him go, gaze narrowed and lips pulled in a tight frown. Waiting. Watching. His weight shifted, a rustle in that fitted leather—again, as he was on that ship: a coiled predator, seemingly waiting for permission to bite.

Why was he like this? Utterly uncaring of some boundaries, then painstakingly specific about others…

But Obi-Wan’s fifteen seconds were expiring. One could tell from the impatient curl of the man’s lips. Perhaps it was indecision that disgusted him most of all.

Traditional wisdom was to choose differently from the spiral of events that had set this into motion in the first place. To try and stop production of regrets.

But… the connection. To deny it… that was what he’d done for weeks, and he’d learned nothing of himself, not of Bane, not of this bond in the Force. _Nothing_.

His only clarity had come in that starfighter seat, when he’d looked this in the eye.

He _did_ want to feel this. Wanted to _understand_ this.

His partner’s sneer melted as the decision was made. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if it was surprise that made those back muscles tense as he pulled Bane close, fingers tingling with curious anticipation, but it seemed to be of the pleasant variety. “Yeah,” the man growled, with a faint smile, “this one is the more fun of the two options.” He seemed painfully taut in his own trousers, but he hadn’t made any motion to free himself. Instead, he drove Obi-Wan around, backing him into the bed, forcing him down. A Jedi’s hand was swatted away, reaching for that gun belt. “Oh no no. We’ll get there.”

Really? Bane didn’t want to just _burn off instincts_ and be done with it?

Obi-Wan rather wished they would.

But his partner leaned down and over him, forcing him to go back to his elbows on the bunk, face twisting in something between a grimace and a dare to back out now. It was like this clever hunter saw the second thoughts perfectly well. “Stop gettin’ skittish. Relax. I don’t do _anythin_ _’_ unless I’m goin’ to do it right.” Those nimble hands finished undoing Obi-Wan’s clasps.

“Really? You have a _professional pride_ complex with—” He really wasn’t sure what else he was going to say about it, because Bane freed him fully then, started to work him once more, calloused thumbs rotating over his tip at the end of each stroke. And it was… oh. _Oh_. It never felt like this under his own hand. What in the galaxy were the buttons this bastard knew how to press? It was all he could do to grip the blankets, suddenly dizzy as Bane managed him, firmly, without rush. A terrible, wonderful pressure paralyzed his core, began burning up his length.

“Ye know… maybe I _do_ keep doin’ this because I do like to embarrass ye. Maybe I just want to hear ye admit it, Kenobi.” Bane chuckled, that rusty, soft sound.

“Admit… what…?”

“That ye like this. Ye’ve _liked_ bein’ with me _again and again_.”

No. Words weren’t coming. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to give voice to the burning lie of _you don_ _’t know me_ he wanted to let loose.

“I want to hear ye say it,” Bane pressed.

“ _I will not_.” There was some dignity worth keeping.

That mirthless chuckle rose, low and scraping. “Say it. That ye like _me_. Ye like _this_. Yer enjoyin' bein' my partner, and ye want my mouth around ye _right now_ , suckin’ ye clean.”

An involuntary clench of Obi-Wan’s muscles sent dizzy waves of pleasure up and down his shuddering spine. “I will _not_.” Bane laughed harder, wheezing in the dim. _I deserve that._ He deserved half the galaxy laughing. “Mm…”

“What’s that? Can’t hear ye over all yer _whimperin_ _’._ ”

“I am not whimpering!”

“…Not yet.”

Obi-Wan felt his trousers rustle down and away, but couldn’t look. He didn’t expect his companion’s body heat to vanish entirely for a confusing, frustrating moment. Didn’t expect Bane to _kneel_ , to feel that warm, clever tongue and lips wrapping around his length.

He only barely prevented himself from bucking, hissing inward sharply. A mocking chuckle vibrated through his groin, through ministrations precise, soft, and calm. Strangely without the scraping of sharp fangs—those teeth were kept out of the way, an achievement that almost shocked him in its skill. How could Bane…? Could he even breathe while doing this…? Could he…?

Obi-Wan had to force himself to close his eyes, to quell his desperate curiosity. He wouldn’t let this be anything other than as quick as he could make it, a simple matter of dealing with his _instincts_ and learning from it.

But he desperately wanted to see. He wouldn’t call anything about Bane gentle, and yet, this slow, measured tongue-stroking felt like it had to come from anyone else in the universe, provided that someone truly seemed to know what they were doing. Despite the rough texture, the way that prodding, softer tip was exploring him... within the span of a minute, he was primed and almost shaking.

Was he obligated to give a warning before he came? Bane certainly wouldn’t do the same for him.

But it was moot. He was released right at the edge of the precipice. Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t disguise his breathing now: his dizzy, heavy intake of frustrated air.

“Ye gonna say it yet?” There was the sound of lips being licked. “Ye gonna _look at me?_ ”

“…What? You… you need the ego boost?” he managed. “Feeling insecure?”

A displeased growl. Something inside his spine tingled alert, making him almost flinch. And that mouth started its work again, though it was decidedly not gentle anymore. Obi-Wan gasped, alarmed. Those teeth scraped the sides of his length like a warning as lips bobbed far too fast, up and down. A hand seized his unprotected sack and twisted it just to a hairline’s breadth of pain. Obi-Wan’s veins throbbed like he was both getting pleasured and getting attacked, and he barely knew which way to respond right then. 

Swearing died in his throat as he knocked his own head back, shaking. He’d barely kept a primal outcry down. Barely remembered how to be himself, civilized, upright.

Dizzy, electricity sizzling up his nerves, he almost came again, somewhere between hurt and shuddering need. His tip screamed with fire.

And Bane let it go once more, just cast him away into the awful, frustrating, empty cold. The man pulled back.

Obi-Wan panted, fingers still gnarled in the bedding.

“Maybe,” Bane said, “Ye should finish yerself off after all. If, ye know, ye really _don_ _’t_ like my work.”

Never in his life was Obi-Wan so frantic, almost animalistic in throbbing urgency, a state he rarely allowed himself. A wildness burning.

 _There_ _… there is no passion… there is peace…_ The reminder was almost desperate.

He opened his eyes, needing... needing to do something about this...

“Ah. There ye are. Good.” Bane was standing now, looming, stripping off his heavy coat. His expression was cool and blank, though the deep, quick way he breathed, the way his jaw hung, it was like he was taking in extra air to scent.

What did he really want? Some kind of invitation? _Does he want me to just demean myself in front of him? Beg?_

This man had to be smart enough to know he’d never get that.

But Obi-Wan wasn’t above an invitation, given that he’d let this happen. To let it end prematurely was to give himself all the regret anyway, with none of what he’d been after. Staring up into those eyes, he unclasped the man’s belt, pulled that arousal finally free into the air too, hard and twitching. He wasn’t stopped this time. It was with something like quiet appraisal that his partner just… let him. Calculation. Curiosity.

_He doesn't think I’ll do it._

_But you don’t know anything about me, you smug, presumptive degenerate._

Obi-Wan leaned down and popped that taut and hungry erection past his lips as if he’d planned this all along, as if it wasn’t some unwise, defiant, spur-of-the-moment grandstanding, a two-can-play-at-this-game challenge. Something like Hardeen made him stare unblinking upwards as he rolled his own tongue, tasting slick, bitter musk starting to leak. And Bane made a soft noise, one that made balls pulse tight, a core clench with fire. It was _surprise_. And it was far more expressive than Obi-Wan predicted the man would be, those eyes fluttering for a half-second.

Bane muttered several unintelligible syllables before apparently remembering to speak in Basic. “Yer gonna have to do more than that to show me up, ye—”

The rest didn’t really seem to arrive, interrupted by another gasp of pleased shock, a chuckle, as Obi-Wan worked him, feeling out his body with his sliding mouth and hand. This equipment seemed a little more flexible than a human man’s, the muscles beneath almost coiled, spiral-ridges hidden under the smooth flesh. No head, which was strange, but not unpleasant on the tongue. He also seemed to lubricate himself from his tip… and quickly. His taste was drenching Obi-Wan’s mouth. Dripping from his bottom lip… like liquid metal in its tang…

The softest tremor took the man’s knees, his breathing faster now, no words at all anymore. His eyes had drifted shut, his hips rocking with the rhythm.

And with that, Obi-Wan let him free. “So. I suppose that’s as far as the favor goes for you too,” he mused, cleaning his lips with the back of his hand. They tingled softly—craving other explorations too elsewhere. To taste. To learn. It was only a physical want, an act he hadn’t done in so long; surely _Bane_ wouldn’t interpret that to have any emotional value, if he tried…?

The man actually laughed genuinely, almost a cackle, when his eyes opened, finally registering the snark.

Then he shoved Obi-Wan back and mounted him, forcing up a leg, prodding his entrance.

For a second, Obi-Wan forgot to breathe.

“Good,” Bane mused, “Ye found yer blasted spine.”

Slicked and hard, he slid inside with almost no resistance, a fact that was a lightning strike to Obi-Wan’s entire system. His entrance ached madly, unprepared, almost frantic in its startled flinch… but ultimately, it was… _oh_ … it was…

Slowly, he began to relax, because it was intoxicating, despite its shock.

The other surprise was that instead of him getting rolled over so he’d be turned away, Bane seemed extremely inclined to force him to watch. Was giving him _no_ opportunity to slink to another angle or pretend he was doing anything else with _anyone_ else.

“ _Kriff_ ,” the man hissed, easing in and out every last centimeter, seizing that leg to hang onto and press out of the way. “Ye feel…”

He didn’t need to finish; Obi-Wan knew, was so flush with fire and need that his entire body was just squeezing near painfully around his aggressive bedmate, unwilling to let him go.

On his back, drowning in another man’s scent… filled with pounding, consuming pressure, lightning lanced up his spine and his tip… and he didn’t even try to turn away now. He looked his loneliness in its crimson eyes.

It didn’t have to mean anything at all, this act. It was consensual and blissful. It was what he _needed_.

Bane gave him something he needed. Free of shame. Free of demands.

And in that acceptance, his fear finally fled.

Free.

A sharp, cool relief hit his soul—he let himself arch his hips higher and groan louder. His partner answered with an appreciative moan of his own, the sound thrumming deep in his chest, lowering himself so they moved tighter together.

That slick, hot length jolted into him again and again, transforming into a near unbearable boil inside. Bane panted, body clenched, fingers squeezing the fabric around them like he wanted to wrench the life out of it too. It was absolutely not the face of a man in control. The both of them were riding their instincts now. Relentless. Unstoppable.

And that struck Obi-Wan right in his lungs, because all this time, he’d thought he’d been the only one utterly lost in this storm. He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed, given over to sensation.

“Look at me,” Bane groaned, voice cracking with want.

Obi-Wan did, and then, he reached up and seized those lips down onto his own, wanting to give voice to all his desires, wanting that articulate tongue to show him its fire too. He didn’t think better of it until it was far too late. Bane’s eyes bulged. Perhaps, as he’d mused earlier, Duros weren’t much for kissing, and perhaps especially not this one—but the man seemed to understand the concept full well. That tongue burst possessively in his mouth for the invitation, course and strange, a heightened, clicking moan vibrating through it as those hips struck harder and faster. Oh, Force take them, he tasted almost _sweet_ despite the bitter smoke and anger he seemed to swallow every hour—and connected above and below, they ground themselves into those sheets.

Obi-Wan realized then he shouldn’t have done that, even if it wasn’t a kiss so much as taste-exploration.

Even if it meant nothing, was just something people did in this act.

Even if it felt like breathing again.

And he wasn’t sure which of them came _first_ , but this was almost certainly the moment that he himself did. He gasped his song as Bane held him down and pumped into him, arching, groaning too in his mother language.

There was a rush of breathtaking release, a trembling in his legs and hands and pounding in his heart.

And then, silence.

It was in this fragile, floating moment, peace and clarity and euphoria, that Obi-Wan saw it.

The barest flicker of vulnerability in his companion’s face.

Those crimson eyes opened halfway as Bane finished, taking in the world, breath slow and savoring. Ah! Respiratory slits under his cheekbones dilated as if to memorize more scent detail, solving a biological mystery—before the membranes pulled tight and became near invisible lines again, frail and curious. And finally, for just the smallest moment, through that haze, the man’s lips twitched, like he nearly wanted to smile.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do, mind settling, logic reasserting itself. What did one even say in a situation like this? He simply let himself exist, trying at least to be honest this time about what they’d done.

It had been good.

And he brushed a knuckle along Bane’s ribs, a silent and perplexed thanks, fascinated by that body’s warmth when its owner was so cold.

The man’s eyes snapped open fully. There was a violent flinch, like this gentle touch was far beyond the pale, regardless of how little it was. Abruptly, he straightened. His implacably irritated wall slammed into place.

Obi-Wan simply made a questioning _hrm_ , raising an eyebrow, still a little slow.

“What?” Bane snapped, voice pure acid. “Ye want pillow talk or some shite? Ask someone else fer that.” He withdrew, though his knees visibly quaked; clearly his biology did not intend for him to walk so soon after his release. He just grabbed a wall and forced himself back.

There was nothing more to be done at this besides a confused shrug. Those words didn’t sting. However, the sudden defensiveness was… noteworthy. Bane was starting to pull his pants up like they’d done him a great wrong.

And it was in that moment that Obi-Wan realized, startled, that his improbable partner may have never intended to let him this close _either_. That all this was in spite of _his_ better judgment too.

The man stormed away, the refresher door sliding shut behind him. He left nothing behind except his scent. Obi-Wan lay in that for a little while longer.

Then finally, curling into the warm blankets, he went to sleep.

He did dream that night, of red eyes and fangs in the darkness once more.

Strangely, they held no dread for him now.


	10. The Drifting Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HECK YEAH UPDATE DAY
> 
> Content warning: elements of suffocation, cliffhanger.

Obi-Wan awoke with a singular matter on his mind: breakfast.

Breakfast that hadn’t been processed to the very _boundary_ of how food could be defined.

Breakfast was a _desperate_ need.

He stirred, stretching, feeling his left thigh ache in the bruised memory of starving fingers. His lower back coiled with an aching arch. And as his blood rose with his consciousness, satisfaction pleasantly throbbed between his legs.

He found he liked the way his recollections tasted on his tongue. It was so easy to breathe deep, to feel a certain… clarity.

Still, a crackle brushed his senses in this room too, the sound of stiff, tense breathing. A turn of his head confirmed Bane’s location, tinkering at the table with the little droid that had nearly killed them on Tatooine. A small stack of burned-out chips and wires was accruing by the man’s left elbow, a control wire snaking from the droid’s cranium to his datapad. It seemed to be spitting rapid readouts.

As Obi-Wan pushed away blankets, coming to a sit, those crimson eyes flashed his way. Despite Bane’s improved health, there was an air still lean and hungry about him. It was something Obi-Wan had noticed too in their… joining. A lingering stare. A fierce urgency.

“Have you eaten anything?” he mused.

The man’s brow raised, his head shaking as if he was baffled anyone might ask.

“How long was I out?” It couldn’t have been more than a few hours.

That dark tongue licked thin lips suggestively. Bane nodded to the window.

Ah. The sun was… rising. All night then. Regardless of the embarrassed pit in his stomach, Obi-Wan couldn’t really argue with that prideful leer. Part of him almost wanted to invite Bane back into these sheets again, but he could tell it would be the same as asking for a lightning storm when he craved spring rain, so he set the idea aside and simply enjoyed the lack of conflict in his heart. “You know, we didn’t even find supper, and I suspect we’ll both drop if we don’t make up for that soon.”

The man turned back to his project silently, a few arcs of light brightening his complexion as he tapped a miniaturized repair torch to a circuit board. His hat was on the table beside him, replaced by a set of protective goggles. The indifference was deafening.

“A man cannot live on spacer rations alone,” Obi-Wan insisted, flat. Bane could do whatever he wanted… but he himself? He was going to find true nutrition. He simply needed more of the credits his illustrious partner was hoarding. “I’d wager I can find a good meal for thirty.” His boots were near the table… and… ah, there was his shirt. But humidity had left sweat stains in unpleasant places. “…Maybe fifty more for some additional clothes.”

“Tch.” Bane seemed to finally get where he was angling. And his words, once they arrived, seemed free, the edges blunted. Perhaps he’d had enough time to store his excess aggression… and perhaps the sex had helped. “Fine. We load up the ship and get a proper meal. Then we’re headin’ to the Mid-Rim. Black Sun’s had an issue with some of their transports gettin’ attacked. A big shipment is headed to Bothawui, and they’re willin’ to pay my fees fer protection, plus a nice bonus if any attackers are brought in alive fer… questionin’.”

Obi-Wan evaluated this, wary. “This cargo…”

“Not our business.”

Probably spice. That was the best version of these events. Lovely. “I never took you for much of a shipment babysitter.”

“ _It_ _’s fast._ A few fast jobs can be as good as a big one, until the next big one comes along.” The goggles were adjusted, and the repair torch sparked a few more times before it was set aside. It seemed he was wrapping up. Obi-Wan truly hoped he wasn’t getting the droid’s grenade launcher working, though it had been cut away, carefully disarmed… frankly, a great deal had been taken apart and put back together on that body shell, the chassis expertly oiled and shined.

It was almost as if Bane had been avoiding sleep again.

Obi-Wan’s lips pursed, but he didn’t remark. “After this job, how much more do you need before this plan of yours to get at Dooku?”

“Not much more.” The man rose, removing his goggles and tossing them in his bag, wrapping up his tools. “But let’s not count our credits before they’re in hand. Now move it. We’re gettin’ outta this stinkhole.”

* * *

They loaded the cargo into the _Xanadu Blood_ ’s small holds. Bane packed it in with an obsessive efficiency—and the droid and his tools, he stashed in the cockpit, perhaps as travel entertainment. Obi-Wan was reminded of his mutual need for an occupation while journeying, but… that could wait until after breakfast.

Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting into as his lanky companion led them back into the central shopping district, ducking into the pleasure palace they’d passed yesterday. _Dancers!_ the massive facade continued promising in huge green letters. Three women in dazzling jewelry undulated their hips out front, a sample platter.

Obi-Wan ground his heels in almost on instinct. “This doesn’t look like a restaurant.”

“Well, then ye don’t know what yer lookin’ at. In this town, the good food’s where everyone goes to spend their money.” Bane smirked. “There’s more to these places than just what they get the rep fer.”

“And you’re sure there’s not a diner or some such…”

Bane tapped a much smaller sign on the wall, translated helpfully to Basic: _Three-Hundred Item Buffet!_ “If I want to hear ye stop bitchin’ about vegetables, this is where ye want to be. Besides,” he shrugged, smirking. “They’ve got sabacc.”

And with that, he sashayed inside.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He truly did.

And yet… vegetables.

Pleasure palace, indeed. Inside, he went.

Even for one accustomed to fields of battle, Hutt establishments of this ilk were a sensory assault. Rich red carpeting and tapestries overwhelmed him, tides of perfume and the pheromones of dozens of species. Smoke hung in the air, heady, dizzying, perhaps because some clients were openly puffing spice. A hundred signs hawked this massive building’s various attractions—gambling, drinking, eating… or enjoying the staff in various stages of undress.

All Obi-Wan could do was follow Bane’s bobbing hat as the man pushed confidently through the cloudy throngs. Several of the workers attempted to gently catch hold of the man as he hustled, perhaps to offer a personalized tour. He brusquely waved them aside, shying from touch.

They didn’t seem to mind, and instantly began latching onto Obi-Wan’s arms instead. A blue Twi-lek with enormous brown eyes rubbed his bicep, smelling of flowers and sweets. The soft glaze in her stare spoke of one of the gentler drugs flowing through her veins. _“Can I show you around?”_ she breathed in Huttese, voice tinged with the rolling, pleasant accent of her faraway homeworld.

It was possible she was a slave.

It was possible she wasn’t, except to whatever vices she’d been snared on.

They didn’t always make it easy to tell.

Obi-Wan patted her hand as softly as he could, knowing he could do nothing. “No, thank you. But it is appreciated.”

She clung regardless, perhaps only catching the _thank you_ and _appreciated_. That shy smile bloomed wide. And, one of her lovely colleagues wrapped around his left arm, a third beginning to feel up his shoulders. They brought down a dizzying floral cloud.

“Er.” Obi-Wan flushed. Bane was starting to disappear into the smokey haze, around a corner of this labyrinth. “I’m very sorry, but, you’re going to have to excuse me…” He tried pulling away. The women tittered and began tugging him the opposite direction.

He could have touched their minds, planted the light suggestion that there were other matters to attend to. But that didn’t feel right, not for people in this situation.

Then, Bane suddenly stopped, looked around, made an irritated slouch, and doubled back. His sharp, snippy hand broke their bubble. “Alright, alright, break off, he’s not interested.” He added something else in snappy Huttese, something that made the women giggle and smile. Obi-Wan caught the gist, even if he didn’t know the slang. It seemed Bane was informing the establishment this… _wookoga?_ … wasn’t there for the women. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain he was also being called exquisitely unattractive by the way Bane gestured at his face.

The women smiled and patted his arms again, then bowed, flowing back into the crowd like water—other people to see, other tours to offer.

“Kenobi,” Bane said flatly. “Have ye ever even _been_ in one of these places before?”

“…Passing through to find people, on occasion.” Obi-Wan straightened his clothes.

“Then yer masters or whatever should have told ye not to talk to the staff. Gives them ideas.”

“I did not wish to be rude.”

“They don’t _care_ if yer rude. _Everyone_ _’s_ rude. Yer…” He shook his head, like he was explaining matters to a toddler. “Just move it. Act like Hardeen or somethin’. It’ll be a lot less embarrassin’.” This time, as they trundled on, he seemed to keep close.

“Did you really tell them I’m ugly?” Obi-Wan wasn’t offended, but… alright, perhaps he was a _little_ offended.

“Tch. Called ye Wookiee-bait.”

“…What does that even mean?”

“Ye’ve never heard that? Human men…?”

“ _Why would_ _…?!_ ”

Brief laughter flickered in those grim eyes. “Obviously: ye grow all that hair outta yer heads, and everywhere else besides. Only a Wookiee’s goin’ to want to chase that sort of tail.”

“What in the galaxy is wrong with…?” Self-conscious again, Obi-Wan stroked his itchy chin, missing his mark of distinguishment, knowing how long it would take again to grow past the patchy stage and into something full and proper.

“I mean, ye sure don’t see people hirin’ a lot of yer kind to dance around here, now do ye?”

“I…” Obi-Wan puffed indignantly. “Funny, I don’t see a lot of Duros men either.”

Bane just sneered.

 _Serves you right._ “Wait: what does this say about _your_ taste in partners, anyway?”

For this, he was simply ignored, and now Obi-Wan did laugh.

It was then they finally encountered the dining area, and a thousand complicated seasonings and herbs greeted them. Yes, being a Jedi, he had trained well in controlling his senses, his needs. But this had not been a vacation of inhibited desires.

He took a plate.

Crustaceans steamed in their shells from Mon Cala’s deep lay before him, bursting with hot oils… grilled greens from Alderaan too, marinated in perky brown fungus sauce… baked, puffed grains from Toydaria, red as blood and covered in sparkling seeds… live iridescent beetles from Kashyyk, scuttling in jars of a hundred colors…

Obi-Wan took a bit of everything he could reach that wasn’t still moving. It seemed to be a free-for-all, once admission was paid for, and he knew he’d be missing all of it the moment that transparisteel hatch closed back over his head. Would it be against the local rules, to wrap up a few items, stuff them in his pockets? Hrm.

At some point along the food line, he lost sight of Bane, but the hat was easy enough to pick up again. The man had found a table at the far end, a nook where he could survey the room and keep his back to the wall. Obi-Wan was halfway to him before realizing they need not sit together. Sharing a feast like this called to mind the rituals of camaraderie on a thousand worlds.

…Unlikely here, no matter how many rats they ate side by side, wasn’t it?

He sighed and settled anyway at Bane’s right. Neither of them commented.

Unfortunately, the man had picked up on a variety of questionable things that now had to be observed in all their glory. A spotted, shelled creature was just _ooze-wiggling_ off his plate. A few roasted lizards on sticks gave dead-eyed stares, rubbed in some orange meaty marinade.

Bane paid his companion no mind at all, gaze in some middle space, chewing contentedly on a briny sea vegetable. He wasn’t even looking at the dancers on perches, as they rocked hips to the soft music—in fact, he seemed almost in a daydream, despite his watchfulness to the doors.

Obi-Wan wondered if he simply found all this skin uninteresting, or if the food was just that good. Real cooking nourished more than the stomach after all, far more than the rations of a hand-to-mouth existence, and certainly more than the slop of Republic Judiciary Central.

Aaand in went that shelled creature that had been wriggling near the Meiloorun fruit. _Crunch. Pop_. Apparently, they could be consumed whole.

 _Eurgh_.

Obi-Wan focused on his own meal, and soon, he too was too occupied to care about what his companion was gnawing. The feast settled rich and heavy in his gut, and he could barely stop. As delicate as his manners were, his fingers were soon stained with sauce and grease from a handheld bite or ten, and he felt as if he’d been a man starving.

After his third plate was stacked, slowly, he reclined back, content. Bane was doing the same, with one of his toothpicks as always, this time actually using it for what it was intended for. He smirked. “Ye startin’ to see the sense of these places?”

Obi-Wan ignored that and considered the Toydarian bread puffs piled high in the table’s center, crusty and savory. They really shouldn’t be wasted. He knew he’d desperately want them later, yet… he really had no room…

Bane’s smirk was melting into something deeply unsettling, eyes sparking with sudden interest. “…Kenobi… are ye goin’ to _steal_ those for the trip?”

“…Of course not.”

Bane ceased blinking quite pointedly, then reached out. At some point between when the bread was touched and when his arm returned to rest, the puff had simply ceased to exist.

“Stop that.” Hutt establishments kept guards even in the dining halls—ones with full vibro-axes and blasters.

“Tch, just stop lookin’ around like—” And then, he froze, a hiss under his breath. “Oh. Great.” Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder.

There was a human man walking right at them from across the room, skin nut-brown from sun, biceps as big as his thighs. He was armored in scarred, metal plate, a rifle openly on his back. Covering his hair and neck was a thick, white wrap.

Obi-Wan squinted. “Is that one of the Hutt—”

“Shut up. Pretend yer mute.”

It was too late to argue; the man had arrived. He just squeal-dragged a chair right on out beside them and sat, throwing his arms wide in a metaphorical embrace. “Cad Bane, you old lunatic!” That brash demeanor was the kind that might knock everything over while walking in a tight market, but wouldn’t look back, expecting someone else to pick up the mess. “I _thought_ that was your ship at the port!”

Bane raised an arch brow, uncurling in his seat. He didn’t reach for his blasters, but the way he opened his coat, leaning his forearms on the table… it made his guns more visible. “…Dengar.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. Another hunter, then.

Dengar nicked a purple berry from Obi-Wan’s plate, perhaps the juiciest and sweetest looking of the bunch. He chewed it with his mouth open. “So who’s this one?”

“Hardeen,” Bane supplied rapidly. “He’s not important. Ye got business with me here, or…?

“Ah, come on. Don’t be that way. Can’t a man strike up a professional bit of chatter with one of his colleagues?”

Perhaps Bane’s wariness of everyone was rubbing off… yet Obi-Wan didn’t trust this conversation quite suddenly.

It felt like… stalling.

Something was… something was wrong…

There was movement on an upper balcony… a Trandoshan in bright yellow creeping out on a ledge, peering at them…!

The certainty hit him like a star cruiser to the brain. “Get down!” He managed to dive out of the way as the Trandoshan unslung a rifle of his own and unloaded a powerful stun shot, right into the backing of his chair. The furniture went flying. Bane jerked rapidly to the side as the Trandoshan fired at him next. The blasts lit up a girl carrying drinks passing by. She seized and dropped, glasses shattering.

People screamed. The Trandoshan bellowed with rage.

“Well,” Dengar said. “Too bad then.”

And as patrons started to frantically clear back, he launched himself at Obi-Wan, fast, far faster than a man of his brutish size should have been able to move. Even as Obi-Wan parried his rocketing right hook, the man snagged a plate with a nimble leg and kicked it into his face. Burning sauce flew at his eyes. He knocked it aside with one arm, food flying.

Bane upended the table and drew his guns, ducking behind it. Another flurry of stun blasts from on high blitzed into the wood. He fired on Dengar, but the man just laughed, already seeing that coming—the rowdy hunter backpedaled and drew his massive rifle too. A lot of people were screaming now, fleeing. “Try this!” Dengar taunted, and three rapid-fire stun blasts tore out of the thing’s muzzle, ill-tuned and jagged at the edges. Bane dove and rolled past chairs. They were blown back and near vibrated to splinters.

Obi-Wan drew in close to distract, leaping and throwing a solid kick to ribs, but the hunter just pivoted, letting the blow smash into an arm guard. Dengar swiped up his gun to try and crack into bone too. He barely missed Obi-Wan’s teeth.

And he was smiling.

Great. This one _loved_ the idea of close combat, and his backup had just leapt whole-cloth from the balcony to help. That massive lizard-like man landed like it was nothing, springing to his feet, evaluating through golden slit-eyes, bringing up the stun rifle once more.

Obi-Wan groaned unhappily. He made himself a rapidly shifting target, ducking, weaving, throwing two punches and another spinning kick against his first opponent as light and as fast as a Jedi could. But Dengar’s full-body armor was letting him just eat the hits and serve bruises for the trouble.

“Do you not even have a blaster?” the man barked, laughing.

Dodging a nasty haymaker, Obi-Wan came in tight, forcing him to block to protect his face. “I hardly need one for you.”

“Oh? Why’s that, _Hardeen?_ ”

“Well, I’m not the one actually trying to do damage.”

But Bane most certainly was. He suddenly leapt over the table, somersaulted under a shot from the Trandoshan, and came up, weaving tight against Dengar’s back.

The man was too concerned with Obi-Wan to realize what was happening. He easily spun and blocked Bane’s rapid, liquid strikes, but Bane hadn’t been trying to hit. He’d been trying to grab, right onto that thick, highly protective, metallic armor.

His shock gloves engaged.

Obi-Wan immediately broke off, body hair standing on end with a static tingle as Dengar hollered in pain, electricity even arcing between his teeth.

The Trandoshan seemed to sense tides were turning. He fired three more shots at all of them, disregarding his shuddering partner. Bane fell back, ducking, deflecting the edge of one wave with his gauntlet. The wrist-com let out a furious spark. He shuddered, but didn’t drop.

Obi-Wan managed to get out of the way, but they needed to run. Gamorrean guards were starting to pour from the entrances. Dengar had gotten hit with one of the stuns in addition to the gloves, but he was… he was getting up. His constitution was _striking_.

So Bane fired a decidedly lethal bolt into his chest. The hunter collapsed, bellowing like an angry krayt—and he still didn’t die! Spittle flew as he clutched the hit. “ _You scrawny blue bastard!_ ”

The Trandoshan roared. Blood was in the air.

Oh… dear.

The man began to rush.

Obi-Wan just grabbed Bane’s arm and began to flee. And shockingly, as they neared their destination, Bane lodged no argument at all. He was a man of commitment. And when one was gearing up to jump out of a window, that was the best quality to have.

_SMASH!_

Glass shattered out in a burst. Obi-Wan flew, right out of the building’s east side, and then, he fell, bouncing from the bright and colorful awnings. It was with a roll and a heaving stagger up that he found earth once more.

Oh. Eurgh. That earned him… a _terrible_ side stitch. All of this running around after eating so much… it was just… tremendously uncalled for.

He didn’t complain, however, as Bane rolled up beside him. The Trandoshan roared out the shattered window, trying to squeeze after—but his shoulders were just a shade too massive.

His hunting howl could still be heard even several blocks away.

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan watched his companion, hustling, clutching his side. Bane had kept up a quick pace; they weren’t far from the spaceport, but everything felt far with people like _that_ gaining on one’s heels.

“ _I_ _’m fine_.” The turn to the port finally entered their sight. Bane skidded to a stop in front of a little Ugnaught worker going by—snatched the datapad right out of those stumpy hands. The worker reached up and squealed indignantly, screeching about certain peoples’ mothers. Bane, however, paused, scrolled to something, and then just tossed the datapad back into the Ugnaught’s furious clutches. His lips were twisting with malevolence, “Oh, I’m even _better_ now.”

The Ugnaught was still huffing and snorting something _choice_ , reaching in his belt for a comm. Obi-Wan could tell security was about to get involved.

Bane just started running again; and all that could be done was to follow, the Ugnaught bellowing after. They made their way for one of the bays, but not where they’d landed—Bane’s visceral sneer was turning into a silent, fangs-forward _aha!_ of triumph. He popped open a gate lock panel and crossed the wires to bypass it, and as that fence swished open, his target became clear. Before them lay an orange-brown brick of a ship, nimble in its sleek engines and maneuverable thrusters. The way it jutted, it almost seemed the head of a predator animal sniffing after its prey. The name on its base certainly seemed fitting: _Hound_ _’s Tooth_.

“Takin’ a bounty on _me?_ ” Bane hissed. “Ye can fish that hyperdrive out of yer yella’ backside!” His nimble fingers _whapped_ something against the hull as he shot past and made his way for another docking bay gate. Obi-Wan glanced the blinking red on the vessel’s frame.

Of course, he’d expected Bane to detonate the mine as soon as they were rather safely gone.

Unfortunately, the man wasn’t looking charitable, baring those teeth as if he was death on two legs. Obi-Wan was barely out of the radius when the roaring blast punched into the back of his neck, a curl of volcanic heat. All he could do was keep rushing on, hazarding only a look back. The _Hound_ _’s Tooth_ ’s belly was lolling and tipped to the side, smoking furiously. Thankfully for it and its owner, it was made of extremely stern stuff, but it wasn’t going anywhere soon.

They made it to their own ship shockingly without getting stopped—this small town’s lax security had likely rushed to the explosion, probably even forgetting about anyone heckling the workers. Bane vaulted into his pilot’s chair, firing the engines. Obi-Wan slipped in just as the hatch began to close.

They were off. The _Xanadu Blood_ was an agile, hungry thing, just like its master, trotting up into the sky like a kybuck bursting out of a gate. Up and up it soared, until the yellow clouds began to part, until the sickly atmosphere gave way for freedom’s starry void.

Obi-Wan expelled a sigh of relief, slumping, as Bane made rapid calculations and engaged the hyperdrive… and they shot from Nal Hutta with a vengeance.

Breathe.

In. Out.

Calm.

Escape complete.

Yet something still pricked up the hairs of his neck. “I can’t say as I care for your colleagues,” he said. “Do you think Dooku sent them, or someone else?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Bane was rigid, commands to the console furious and fast. It seemed he was running a search. “…Nothin’ on the official bounty boards fer either of us… this was a private hit. Still can’t believe they were keen to take it. Someone is payin’ _a lot_ fer them to risk shootin’ up a Hutt’s business.” He cocked his head. “But no one’s dead. They can just pay fer damages and a bribe… they’ll be back on the trail soon.”

“Their ship—”

“Bossk’s. The Trandoshan. Though even if he’s grounded… Dengar might live, and he’s like as not got his own transport… just _couldn_ _’t remember what it was called to look fer it_.” He snarled at the glowing blue of hyperspace, as if these small errors were far beneath him, and he would not forgive himself the matter. “We don’t run in the same circles, me and Dengar. Not a fan of his… methods.”

Clearly this was going to be a sore point, that those methods had even challenged him today at all.

Obi-Wan’s neck hairs pricked higher. Yes. That was what was bothering him: Dengar’s taunt. _“Cad Bane, you old lunatic! I_ thought _that was your ship at the port!_ _”_

“You need to scan for devices on the hull,” he said. A dream-memory flared…! “They may have tampered with—”

“Did that as we left.” Bane snarled at no one. “Found a tracker. Disabled it. Nothin’ else.”

Still, the cold feeling in Obi-Wan’s gut wouldn’t subside. “We need to drop from hyperspace. There’s still something wrong.”

“Why the kriff would we—”

“Trust me!” He grabbed Bane’s arm. That went as well as could be expected. The man snarled and pulled away. “Hey.”

Bane looked. Truly _looked_ , deep into his eyes.

“Trust me,” Obi-Wan whispered.

That lip curled.

But those fingers tapped a complicated sequence on the controls, and the luminescent glow of hyperspace slowly faded. The stars reasserted themselves. The galaxy’s void crawled over them again. The _Xanadu Blood_ gave a mild shudder, but that was all—no planets were in view now, no landmarks.

“Alright,” Bane hissed. “Now—”

And the explosion was the last thing Obi-Wan remembered.

…

…

…Ringing.

Pain. Fire in the bones of his neck.

Vision doubled and bleary, he fought to open his eyes. Small globules of blood drifted before him. Was… gravity…?

He coughed, coppery moisture rising up out of his esophagus in a way it really shouldn’t. His nose was damp, coated in the floating crimson.

But, he could breathe. Life support. Good.

A terrible crack marred the transparisteel, but it hadn’t punctured the cockpit—they’d only been thrown. The Force was with them. But mangled, their vessel drifted alone and pitiful in the void, a majestic bird of prey with shattered, crumpled wings.

_If that had blown in hyperspace, we could have been torn apart entirely._

“Bane.” His partner’s arms were slack and drifting high. The man’s face couldn’t be seen, scattered blood drops hovering above him too—his hat floated against the hatch, an ugly green smear across its leather brim.

Obi-Wan struggled to reach out, but he was yanked into place. Restraints. His chair’s security had reactivated, an emergency failsafe to protect the pilot from dangerous captives during a system shutdown.

 _Blast!_ Obi-Wan breathed, concentrated, and tried reaching out with the Force. The mechanisms in that customized pilot seat ground angrily. It just wouldn’t spin, not without breaking it. And he couldn’t access the controls very well from here. Couldn’t see. Had no idea which button might release him so he might actually _do_ something about all this.

Had no idea if power was even sufficient right now to have the controls active.

The endless black of space crushed down on his head. The ship’s transparisteel crackled as it settled and fractured further, as they spun slowly, adrift, aimless.

“Bane,” he tried again, louder, hoarse, desperate in the dim red emergency lights. His neck throbbed from whiplash.

Nothing.

Something cold and fearful tingled in Obi-Wan’s heart, something he knew he needed to let pass, lest it paralyze.

There _was_ the sound of soft breathing up there. Barely audible.

Yes. The man was alive.

“…Good,” Obi-Wan croaked, voice cracking as he took stock, relieved as only someone could be when trapped in a crumpled can in the middle of space and realizing they weren’t alone. Closing his eyes, he reached out again with the Force, this time in a different way.

The world in this cockpit grew sharper. Bane’s breath was shallow, troubled, his presence guarded, even in unconsciousness. Obi-Wan tried to prod it. _Wake up,_ he willed. _I need you to wake up._

And yet, Bane’s internal walls were so high. His strong will was honed to resist such influence. It was like trying to speak to a stone.

_Please. Just this once._

He grasped with the Force more strongly, his gentle touch turning more urgent.

_Wake up!_

He sensed something shift inside the man, something deep.

And suddenly, for just a moment, he was no longer in the ship, bound to his chair.

_It was a cold, stone hallway, and he desperately sought something, the air musty on his tongue. A door lay before him. Behind it was possible danger, but smug satisfaction was in his core. He was cunning, fast, and strong. And the lock? It was child_ _’s play._

_No, he was a child, barefoot and bleeding green from his skinned knees and elbows, scrabbling through a polluted, poverty-strangled shantytown. His throat was parched to cracking. Furious howls were rising behind him—someone_ _’s animals hunting thieves. With a skitter, he turned down an alley, finding a locked door to a shed. It rattled under his desperate hands. He had no idea how to get inside._

_No, a mattress frame rattled under his hands, and he was a man in a prison, desperately seeking anything he might control. Bright, endless rage burned under his skin. The frame, however, was built sturdy. Nothing could be broken off for use as a shiv. He_ _’d assumed as much, but it hadn’t hurt to try._

_He was going mad. Every night, he dreamed; every day, he marinated in this endless solitude—forgotten, beaten, perhaps soon sentenced to death._

_These dreams were unrelenting. Nightmares like he hadn_ _’t had for years. And the worst dreams were when they weren’t nightmares at all._

_“Kenobi…” he hissed._

_No, he wasn_ _’t in prison, not anymore. He was safe, in a much more pleasing locked room. Here, the sharp and dangerous world merely lay at arm’s length. The bed was cheap. The sheets were warm, scratchy blankets wrapped around tight._ _And in his arms, there was a man, face burrowed into the fabric—pale-cream, muscled flesh human, tingle-soft with hairs, a scent complex, musky, and sharp. It was so strange and pleasant, how this man tasted of salt._

_“Dak’u shan,” this dreamer mused, pulling close, quiet and settled. Trusting. At peace._

Obi-Wan reeled back in his seat, eyes fluttering, as if he’d been blown back by a rifle. He coughed, sensing his body, _his_ body, not another’s, not Bane’s. His companion was creaking in his chair, scrabbling, as if slapped awake. “What? What happened?!”

“Explosion,” Obi-Wan rasped, sagging. “Because I cannot go _two rotations_ without one anymore.”

Had Bane sensed his accidental intrusion? He truly hadn’t been trying to…! It just… it was as if the Force pushed him in.

Like one of the many locked doors in those dreams clicking free.

 _But I_ _… in that bed, that was…_ He knew his own scars, the lightsaber scorches across his arm and leg from a duel long past.

Scars that had made him feel… made _Bane_ feel...

It was no memory; Obi-Wan had never seen that place, and—

No. He couldn’t think on it; it couldn’t _matter_ in this moment.

The console bleeped in a sickly way as Bane began tapping rapid-fire commands to the computer, running diagnostics. He was muttering something that sounded increasingly like curses in several languages.

“Let me free,” Obi-Wan croaked. “Perhaps I can see what I can do.”

Bane made a growl and hit some switch, the security disengaging on the chair. _Try whatever you want,_ his dismissive wave said, _because it_ _’s not like this is going to get any worse._

Free, Obi-Wan hunkered and maneuvered from his seat, trying to press near the hatch without increasing pressure on it, observing the hull and wings. It wasn’t a perfect view. But he caught a line of debris, an arc of components popped loose, no doubt from when the explosion had sent them hurtling through the void.

The weapons array was catastrophically damaged. Its rockets had overheated and ruptured. That had… truly not helped matters.

And the engine… he couldn’t see, but from that shattered, glinting debris stretching across the horizon… it’d been _gutted_.

This Dengar, or whoever he was working with, was no fool to place the bomb so well. The internal scanners had utterly missed its presence. Or perhaps he’d just gotten in and sabotaged matters, making the ship its own downfall.

Perhaps he might be along soon, looking for where his prey had fallen from the hyperspace lane.

Reaching out with the Force, Obi-Wan began to draw the refuse close. Partially, he wished to examine it, see what was lost. Partially, he wished to give the bounty hunters as little of a trail as he could manage.

Bane was alarmingly silent for a long moment. Then, he grabbed his tiny project droid, began reopening the access hatches and pawing at the innards.

“What are you going to do with that?” The question was soft. This was a poor situation, and Obi-Wan knew it.

“It’s a Todo unit. I can load it with a saved personality and wipe out Strinder’s.” He reached under his console, seemingly to find a hidden storage compartment. Various gizmos seemed to be in there; it was hard to get a good look. But, he fished out a data storage cube. “Goin’ to interface it with the ship. The droid’s battery’s good, so since we’re losing power in the console… it’ll let us keep access.” His fingers tapped a stressed rhythm on the droid’s cranium once, twice. “Life support’s at 62%.”

That was both awful and better than expected, from this damage.

“Can the Todo power anything else on the craft…?”

“No. Not from here.”

“Have you sent out a distress signal?”

Bane turned and looked at Obi-Wan like he was a simpleton. “Yeah. Gonna do that when we’re bein’ actively pursued. Sure!”

“Better caught than dead!” Obi-Wan squinted over the wreckage he’d captured. He recognized part of a hyperdrive core. Lovely. They were well and truly stuck.

“Hrm. Life support at 58%. Droppin’ faster than it should.”

A shudder went up Obi-Wan’s spine, and it wasn’t just the sinking temperature. “We could send a signal out on perhaps less-used channels. I might have a connection in the area.”

Bane might have rolled his eyes, but it was hard to tell. “A Jedi’s got a connection between Nal Hutta and Saleucami?”

“…I know of someone that occasionally uses these routes. They’re not Republic. No military or Jedi outpost could get to us in time, anyway.”

“Oh?” He perked. “I appreciate that ye don’t sound like ye _like_ this character yer thinkin’ of. How dangerous are they?”

“Perhaps not to us. But they _will_ want something in return. Better than freezing and suffocating to death simultaneously, at any rate.”

Bane’s lips curled, though his brow rose in curt agreement. He jittered a few toggles, preparing for a transmission. And the entire time, he muttered, his pride clearly and grievously harmed: “Those two meat-brained bastards…! My _ship_ … _!_ Should have known Bossk’d get himself in some kind of alliance with Dengar… Trandoshans can’t resist makin’ _packs_ …” He said that like the concept was a disease.

Obi-Wan hesitated, noticing the ugly lesion across his forehead, where he’d been struck in the crash. It needed first aid. But Bane merely waved an impatient hand as blood continued to bead above his eyes and drift off into the wall, as he started to tremble in the steadily seeping chill. “Codes. Now.”

Obi-Wan complied.

The minutes passed as he finished his work. It was clear he was perhaps trying a workaround or two to get past the damaged array. “Alright. Angled at the Florrum system.” Yet, all that patched in was crackly nothing. “The long range is down. Short range transmitters are damaged too, but… working… so it’ll probably get through. Looped message, no holodata. Better speak clear and plain.”

Then, he gave a signal, near universal in nature: _go_.

“…Hondo.” Obi-Wan spoke, and the exhaustion that name gave him seeped into both syllables. “ _Any_ Ohnaka crew, honestly: this is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m in a ship in considerable distress, and this is time-sensitive. If you give us a tow to Florrum, we can negotiate a sizable reward.”

After he gave coordinates, the signal began to beam.

“ _Ohnaka pirates?_ ” Bane scowled. “Really?”

“You know them?”

“No, but I’ve heard… t’ings.” He looked even more tired now, turning away, back into his own internal stew. “Better than Dengar, I guess _… that little hork-snatcher…!_ ”

Obi-Wan knew not what a hork was, nor why it might be snatched, but Bane was just chewing on this like old gristle. “Was it strange he was trying to bring us in alive?”

“Yeah. It’s _worse_. Someone _wants_ somethin’ of us. And ye know what, Kenobi? I t’ink I know who.”

“…That person you feel hired those mercenaries from the trial.”

“Clones. They hired _clones_.”

“…If you say so.”

“I do!” Bane slammed his fists on the console.

There was nothing else to discuss. Breathing hard, Bane seemed to eventually settle his anger back into its box, as if remembering that emotion used more air.

For a long time, they simply drifted in queasy zero-gravity, silent like the lethal black vacuum beyond the battered hatch. Chill crept in more and more. The air grew stale, each breath a little more shallow and dirty.

No one answered the call. Not yet.

No rescuers dropped from hyperspace.

But no pursuers, either.

Obi-Wan’s nose stung, going numb, the tips of his ears the same. Frost was beginning to accrue on the inside of the cockpit, their labored breath turning to mist. “You think the signal’s reaching Florrum?”

“Startin’ to wonder.”

“How’s the life support?” His teeth were starting to chatter.

“Do ye really want to know?” Bane had his goggles down low now, hands busy with the droid rewiring.

“…Yes.”

“32%.” This was shoved through a tight, quaking jaw and all its teeth.

Once it dropped below double digits, they might slip into unconsciousness.

Obi-Wan tried to slow his breathing. Tried to meditate, raise his internal heat. Humans were extremely adaptable creatures, fortunately. It was why they’d spread so thoroughly to every quadrant. The Duros, however… they were hardy and adventurous, but they were different. Even though they were warm-blooded, Obi-Wan recalled he didn’t often see them in the colder climes.

Bane might handle Tatooine like it was nothing, but now, in that chair, he was shaking badly, dropping things as readily as he was picking them up. His leathers rustled as he drew them tight and close. But he said nothing. He would not stare down death with anything less than stoic dignity, Obi-Wan suspected.

“Bane.”

“What do ye want?” It was a shuddering snip.

“I noticed you keep an emergency heat blanket back here. We should really consider using it.” At least, until someone arrived… whoever that someone might be.

“I’m fine.”

He clearly was not. “Just… get back here, bring your project, and we’ll be extremely uncomfortable and cramped together. But also, warm.” Obi-Wan dragged the blanket from the supply pile, engaging the little battery. Almost instantly, heat began to blossom in the cloth under his thumb. “I don’t know if I really need to remind you of this, but you’re going to use more energy and air shivering than not.”

That was what seemed to do it: pragmatism. Bane’s lips pursed in what looked like a complicated emotion, and then, slowly, he edged from his chair and maneuvered into the back, crouching, squeezing. It didn’t seem simple. Obi-Wan had never seen a starfighter with its two seating compartments so joined; he’d wager the ship’s original configuration didn’t allow this, and it barely allowed it now. The best he could do with this blanket was to cramp up side-to-side on the floor with his shipmate, knees to their chins in the tight, impossible space.

Quite a contortion. An edge on the seat dug angrily into his back.

But the warmth around him now? It was an instant relief. And Bane, that sharp shoulder bucked up against his own… he could feel the man stop shaking. He pressed in tight, sealing their precious body heat together.

“Duro’s not a place of extreme cold, is it?” Obi-Wan didn’t expect much conversation, and wasn’t encouraging it—it was just… miserable here. The silent void pressed down on him, and other than the emergency lights, it was all there was to be seen. The stars. Beautiful. Brilliant.

Hostile. Slowly getting frosted over.

It seemed this was even getting to Bane. He deigned to actually answer, quiet, shallow of breath so as not to expend much oxygen in speaking. “Ye ever _been_ there?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and shook his head. Technically he supposed he had, but it was from a distance, back when he was much younger. Just a boy on a ship passing through with his master—not much need for a peacekeeper in the core worlds. He regretted to say he remembered little of the star system from school. No Duros had been in his youngling cohort.

Bane’s brow furrowed. “Natural environment was knocked out of balance a long time ago. Most everyone lives in the city-satellites in orbit.”

“…Oh.” That sounded… fundamentally different from what he was expecting, from this man who seemingly knew so much of the wilds.

Bane seemed to hear that thought, as he shifted his focus on the droid, stabilizing the thing’s inner gyroscope. “It’s why Duros have a yen for travelin’.” His lip curled. “The air even tastes bad, on the surface. Things are just… dead or sick-shamblin’. And up high? Slaves to the credits, but not usually yer own. Ye can tell where the kriffin’ Nemoidians got their business obsessions when they split off from the gene pool, as much as people hate to admit it.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Bane was criticizing people for doing anything for credits? Truly? “Is that why you left home?”

“Tch!” Teeth bared. “Isn’t _home_. Ye wanted to know about Duro. I answered. Isn’t about _me_.”

“…Oh. Well… it doesn’t seem a pleasant place. What _is_ home for you?”

The man recoiled, as if startled and a half-step away from pulling a knife again, though that would be a production in this coffin-space when his long, cramped limbs were likely half asleep.

Tired, starting to get a bit fuzzy in his head, Obi-Wan just rested his skull back on the seat edge. “I know it’s a personal question. If it’s too uncomfortable, you can leave it. I only seek to… understand.”

“Stop!” Bane snapped one of the access ports shut like it had insulted him. “Stop gettin’ cute and tellin’ jokes and actin’ like ye care because yer so _diplomatic_. Yer not my friend!” His breath puffed angry white. “We both know yer too much a Jedi to let me walk free when ye stop bein’ curious—ye’ll chain me up for the rest of my life in some dark hole with those bastard guards fer company.”

“I—”

“If ye say I deserve it based on yer pretty, perfect code, I will shove this micro-torch so far up yer arse, ye’ll be able to fix hull cracks with yer sneezes.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head and snorted. There was no good response, he supposed. Not one Bane would want to hear.

But he himself…

…No, he didn’t quite believe in the justice the man had received. That much was true.

Huh. Moisture froze differently in zero-gravity. It flaked and hung in the air like snow.

His companion grumbled for a while, stewing, working. Then he suddenly wheezed, puffing away the flecks of cold near his face. It was a thin sound—starkly different from his malice… something so… so tired. “…Should never have saved yer sorry life Kenobi… just _look_ at this…” His jaw hung strange and tense. His eyes gleamed bright.

Obi-Wan straightened, feeling almost stricken. Yes, he _knew_. The one time Bane hadn’t been utterly merciless, and prison had been his certain reward before _this_ absolute debacle. He knew! He just hadn’t… hadn’t reconciled it.

And then… the rancor… when the man had stayed and fought _…_

Obi-Wan spoke, soft. “Why do you keep saving me?” That crimson gaze narrowed. Those lips tightened. “For what it’s worth, I do regret aspects of your arrest.”

Bane hunkered deeper into himself, re-securing the droid’s power supply. “…Don’t… _tch!_ Shut it. I only saved ye back then because ye were the best choice.”

A bout of lightheadedness came on… but it passed quickly. Obi-Wan shook himself. “What?”

“In the Box! Ye went out of yer way to make Eval’s challenges look like nothin’, but ye did it while makin’ sure yer team made it out alive.” The confession was almost an edged whisper. “The Naboo mission needed that skill. Yer a leader. Ye were the obvious option.” He chuckled darkly. “Until ye karked it all up by not killin’ Eval when ye had the chance. But ye know, even then… I t’ought it was because ye were smart. Ye weren’t gonna get _personal_ while he had use.” His head bowed. “T’ought ye might actually be one of the best bounty hunters there then, no matter my issues with ye. I knew ye could be trusted.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched. Bane would have… followed him, if it had come to that. Would have entrusted his own life.

Because of Hardeen’s supposed _principles_.

For once in his existence, Bane perhaps thought someone had been an honest, open hand, not a treacherous fist.

“The question is, Kenobi, when yer gonna get that knife of yers out and repay me again.” Those words hung icy in the chill. He jammed together a connector with a click inside the droid chassis, and those fingers, though they shook less in this spare warmth, were smeared in both grease and blood.

“I...” Obi-Wan’s chest ached with breath that was coming harder and harder. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m actually grateful for some of what you’ve done.”

Hissing, acidic vitriol seethed through Bane’s spit: “ _Gratitude don_ _’t mean shite!_ ” 

The hatred festered here like pus inside a sore. All Obi-Wan could do was take it in, letting it surround and pierce him, then pass on through.

In that dream, Bane had been… capable of something gentler. It clearly wasn’t a thing the man felt now, and Obi-Wan only weighted the visions of subconsciousness so far, but if something, _something_ in this man’s soul was able to…

“What if… I gave you my word? My word on an action I will take—on my honor as a Jedi. As a member of the Council.” The endless night and cold pressed closer, even though he couldn’t see the boundless stars anymore beyond the frosted glass. He was suddenly wildly dizzy. All he could do was let his head list, sighing.

 _Life support: 20%_ , the readout said past Bane’s shoulder.

The man just glared at his work.

“When all this is over… when our contract is at an end… I’ll repay you with an open hand this time. Not a knife. That’s my word to you.”

Finally, Bane paused. And, glaring, he turned, looking both baffled and incensed. “…What the kark is that even supposed to mean?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze fluttered shut. His lips were numb now, peeking outside the heated blanket.

Dizzy.

Tired.

But Bane’s prodding fingers against his chest were warm, and so he took them, because he was nothing if not a sincere man. “My word,” he said simply.

He would be a better man. A better _Jedi_.

“Kenobi,” the growl came, even as those fingers left. But Bane didn’t sound angry anymore. The rage had aged and turned to tired dust—perhaps to be tilled under to incubate new hatred, or, perhaps, it was just blowing away. One could hope… “Stop talkin’ so much.”

“…Right…”

Suddenly a new noise broke as a toggle flipped, and something garbled, trilling, full of static—a droid booting. Obi-Wan managed to open his eyes wide enough again to see, wondering if there was anything he might do, or if a nap was truly the best option. He was… so heavy. A headache was pounding. Nausea.

The little droid’s activated golden eyes were high beams in the darkness. The chaotic mess cleared from its vocabulator. “…Sir? Master… Master Bane? Did something happen? Was I deactivated?”

This newly loaded personality was so polite. Cheerful. What a curious being Bane had selected for companionship.

Obi-Wan patted the droid’s head. “Hello, little one.”

Bane removed his hand and shoved it back inside the blanket. “Todo, I just rebooted ye from one of yer old backups into a new shell. Ye might have some corruption in your memory logs and mismatched hardware data. Can ye function?”

“I am suboptimal, but I can likely perform most tasks.” The unit sat up, then cocked its pendulous head Obi-Wan’s way. “Hello to you as well, sir! I am Todo 360, technical service droid.”

Obi-Wan bobbed his head obligingly.

Those golden eyes turned back to the man who’d rebuilt them. A hesitant, small arm reached out, pointed at where blue scalp was scabbing. “Master, you are… damaged.”

“I’m fine. Let’s get ye wired into the _Blood_ ’s computer. Console’s partially inoperable, and the power’s fadin’. So I need ye to lend yer power to keep it accessible—also, run a bypass and get me any critical diagnostics. In particular, I need to get our communications array boosted. I suspect it’s not reachin’ its target.” Bane rose into a stoop, abandoning his current post. The cold rushed into the vacuum his presence left behind—biting, ravenous cold, a space in the universe that had never met a sun.

“You’ll freeze,” Obi-Wan warned.

The man was shivering already under their dome of frost. “Stay there,” he ordered. “Todo, with me.”

Curling into himself, Obi-Wan resolved to keep this space warm until his companion was able to return. And Bane settled into that pilot’s chair, cracking another section of the console open and grabbing fistfuls of conduits with trembling hands. It took him several tries to get Todo hooked in—cursing, spitting, whispering white puffs. Obi-Wan saw him shake his head several times, as if to clear it. “Where the kriff is…?!”

The micro-torch he’d left behind levitated on over. Obi-Wan felt very helpful as he did so, slumping, his own muscles aching, desperate to relax. To _rest_.

“…T’anks.”

“Of course.”

The droid chimed. “I am connected to the ship’s mainframe. Life support… master, life support is… worrying. Twelve percent…”

“Shut it and tell me about the communications.” Bane shook, finally leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.

All of this sounded, however, far away. As if it was drifting underwater.

Todo’s polite drone rang. “Of course… signal may not… extending… Florrum. Dish damaged. Cannot…”

Bane gave an order of some sort, something that made his fangs bare.

Desperation.

Obi-Wan shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

Slowly, he drew into himself, quieting his collapsing body, sinking down into his gasping mind.

_I am one with the Force. And the Force is with me._

He sensed their dying ship, lost, broken. He sensed a thousand stars, too far away for their light to reach. He sensed a communications dish on the hull, bent, cracked. It was doing its best, a hum in its form. He could feel something inside it grinding as Todo attempted to issue helpful commands.

_I am one with the Force. And the Force is with me._

He sensed his friends, his family now, so many parsecs away. He sensed the soft pulse of a galaxy he loved and had yet to tire of seeing.

In his mind, he reached out, thinking of Florrum—all he’d seen there before, all he’d smelled, all he’d done. Red iron-rich dust… olive-green scrub and strange, sunken streams beneath the surface… voices singing, roughhousing, loving life.

_I am one with the Force. And the Force is with me._

The communications dish trembled in the taut, pulled string of a universe aligning.

“Partial repair successful! Signal… boosting…” Todo reported, faraway.

Obi-Wan smiled. He managed to hold his grasp for a minute more before his hand fell, before he couldn’t quite get enough air to keep it aloft.

He wondered if it was better to open his eyes or sleep, but he couldn’t do the former, and so it was decided for him.

“Kenobi.” He heard the snap, noticed a stinging on a numb, cold cheek, as if it was happening to someone else. “Jedi. Hey!”

“I am… one… Force,” he whispered. “Force… with… me.”

“Obi-Wan!”

But Obi-Wan Kenobi was gone.

Into dreamless dark, there was nothing to do but fall.


	11. The Drifting Grave, II

A Jedi’s mind stirred, as if it had been lost for years: dark… deep… adrift in a sea of polluted oil. The haze was thick and fathomless.

His lips, his esophagus… they ached terribly, the skin stinging and the muscles throbbing. But air! Air wheezed through him.

In. Out.

In. Out.

He was a musical instrument, and something else was forcing his lungs into time.

His eyelids peeled back, gummy, bleary. There was a voice somewhere on the edge of his consciousness—indistinct, but a whisper that called him on, harsh and resonant.

“ _Obi-Wan!_ ”

He didn’t know… who…

Obi-Wan tried to call back, but he couldn’t speak, and his breath was not his own. This darkness was endless, a void in which to drift and never find the shore.

And so he floated, for perhaps days. Weeks. Years.

There was no difference. And such time passed that when he heard the voice again, he wasn’t sure it was even the same speaker. This time, it seemed… so soft… patient…

“ _Obi-Wan_ …”

He clung desperate to that sound, sunk deep into his mental well. And in its wake blossomed recognition: those words, that timbre…

It all had floated up from the depths of his guilty nightmares. His hopeful memories.

 _This_ was the voice of the man whose death marked the end of his youth, one whose gentle, patient teachings taught him who he was in the first place.

“…Master… Qui-Gon…?” The whisper tore from his throat, harsh, cracked.

Suddenly, light dawned, and he was alive.

It was the Dune Sea, all of its fire and dust. Twin suns blasted a bleaching, scorching cleanse across the land, heat ripples bubbling up into the horizon.

He stood there, lightheaded, unable to remember when he’d arrived or why he’d come.

“ _Obi-Wan_ _…_ ”

A line of footprints lay ahead of him. Someone’s boots had walked this path before—and as he watched that trail stretch on and on, forever into the light, his former master’s voice beckoned him to follow.

The parched and lonely wind whistled over his simple Jedi robes.

Obi-Wan Kenobi began to walk.

The hours that passed after that were fuzzy, melting things—the horizon mercilessly boundless, the dunes infinite. And the suns, they never sank, simply hanging as if time’s wheel had forgotten to turn. Onward, Obi-Wan trudged. His boots were soft and flexible, but the heat from the sand radiated into his feet as it twisted tricky and loose beneath. He never grew tired, though. Never thirsted, even as his skin burned, as his mind evaporated slow.

The trail stretched before him, and he followed.

He walked until he forgot what it was to stop.

He walked until he no longer remembered another sky or another earth.

He walked until he had no thoughts and no past and no self, and then, he kept walking, breathing, putting one foot in front of the next… doggedly cresting each new hill, just like the wanderer who had come before.

And suddenly, this traveler with no history and no name spied something new: a moisture farm. It was built into the earth, its white domed entrance peeking above the fathomless expanse. He rubbed his hands together, considering it. They’d grown wrinkled and tough in the constant sunlight.

His back ached… his knees too. His breath came shorter.

So short. It was hard to breathe.

“Luke…?” called a woman. Her voice floated from the little home, and a young boy was running towards it to meet her.

The traveler watched this, and a strange longing, a flutter of hope, bubbled in his heart. Had he… had he been here before…?

“ _Obi-Wan_.” His master’s voice came again on the wind. To it, he turned.

Oh. Yes. That was who he was.

And yes, this farm was a place, but it was not _his_ place, not now, not yet… wherever it was. The line of footprints was not yet done. Gathering himself, wheezing softly, he shuffled on.

“Master,” he whispered to the sky. “Where are you?” An old pang sprung up inside his chest, a leak of agony, where it had been locked tight behind a dam. His teacher had joined with the cosmic Force so many years ago. This, Obi-Wan had known… he’d _believed_ … they’d _said_. The man named Qui-Gon Jinn was gone forever, because even if his energy lived on, his mortal identity could not remain.

He was gone, as all living things must pass.

And the student left behind, he’d suffered, he’d mourned, but he’d made it so quiet now.

A Jedi could not be… so attached…

A Jedi could not _grieve_ so, spend those days on the floor in the solitude of his room, pretending he was in meditation… just staring listlessly into nothing and wondering at the gravity of the future.

In this endless desert, the pain of loss was fresh. The sand sucked his boots down low. To walk was to struggle, the stale, heat-baked air an oppressive blanket on his skin and lungs.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, lost as he was in his fight forward, but the sky had begun growing dim. The suns? They were finally starting to sink.

And as darkness fell, a looming rock crested the sky.

A cave system.

He reached it just as the millions of stars above bloomed, glittering majestic—as the shadows on the ground grew thick and blinding as a flood, consuming the land.

The footprints… they were lost.

He had to stop.

How was he going to…?

Suddenly, a thrill raced up his spine. _Wait_. Tingling adrenaline stabbed his heart and tightened his stance.

He wasn’t alone in this place.

Something gleamed in the endless black. Something alien: twin sparks of eye shine, reflective, knife-edged, and curious.

A smile glinted beneath them, too toothy, too _sharp_.

Wheezing, aching, Obi-Wan trembled as Bane’s lanky, liquid form swaggered from the labyrinth of night. A small burst of brightness sparked and flared near the man’s face—the end of a cigarette beginning to burn, knocking back the pitch dark. “Obi-Wan,” he spoke. The peculiar resonance of his accent echoed in this strange place. “Yer hair’s turnin’ white.”

“Is it…?” He _felt_ old. So old.

Bane just tossed his head over his shoulder, as if ordering him to come.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan wheezed. “I’m following a trail, but it’s too dark… I’ve lost it… I can’t see…”

A cocky glare answered, that shining ember casting a harsh relief over Bane’s severe cheekbones. It was a silent reproach, a reminder of _exactly_ who the galaxy’s best tracker was. Smirking, he drew in close, pulling that cigarette to rest between finger and thumb. His forehead braced to Obi-Wan’s, his form smelling of choking smoke and leather.

Bane seized his companion’s lips, a kiss like a lightning strike.

Obi-Wan would have pulled away, but in that scorched breath, oxygen came too, making life flare inside his organs. His body sucked it in as if it was making him young. So he clung to this bounty hunter, this violent and consuming distraction, tasting that tongue like it was everything, even as the fangs drew a sharp bead down his lip.

When Bane pulled away, Obi-Wan felt as if he’d been dragged from certain drowning.

“Are ye comin’?” Bane whispered, one thumb tracing his cheek. “Or not?”

“I… my master’s voice…” Obi-Wan shook under the stars and tried to find his center. “I… I want… no, if I stray from the path… Bane, I’m a Jedi… I cannot leave this to follow you.”

“Tch.” That mocking, dry laugh was a croak in this wasteland. Old words bubbled forth. “ _I_ _’m_ not the one tryin’ to strangle some dusty old philosophy into a shape that makes me feel better. I am what I am. I _know_ what I am. And if ye don’t know what ye are, yer mind isn’t clear enough to take the shot when ye need to.” Those fire-eyes gleamed. “It’s why ye _hesitate_ , Kenobi. Why ye’ll _always_ hesitate.”

Obi-Wan’s heart pounded harder, and his companion just… left. He turned and began to walk off, as if certain people could choose to sit alone in the black or not, but he wasn’t waiting.

With him went all of that lifesaving oxygen.

Obi-Wan reached out. He hurt. The agony of memories threatened to swallow him again, the sand sucking him down forever as he wheezed, as colors and spots flashed in his eyes. His merciless companion hustled quickly, confidently into those shadows deep—the bobbing ember between his fingers as if a single star had fallen to the earth, hoping it might be chased.

Obi-Wan realized… more than anything… he _wanted_ to believe this man knew the way. He _wanted_ to trust, as those eyes asked of him.

Master Qui-Gon had also been a man possessed by strange ideas, had he not? Things that weren’t always… by the book.

Obi-Wan cried out as he yanked his boots from the soil, desperate to breathe, to find his way, to feel that touch that made him… made him _feel_ …

He ran for his companion. And in that moment, as he chased his pain and his peace and that fire-scent that called like it was the way home… three truths were revealed.

One, Bane was still smirking like a self-satisfied bastard, like he’d always known Obi-Wan would follow.

Two, they’d arrived at the mouth of a cavern, and it sunk deep into the earth, a tunnel to oblivion. Inside, Obi-Wan sensed coldness. Fear. Suffering. The dark side of the Force: it was oozing from this place like a soup boiling over, making him shiver, making him flinch.

Three, the star-kissed cigarette left the barest spot of light at their feet now, hanging low. And the footprints tracking all this way across this empty nothing… Obi-Wan realized, they’d been his companion’s, all this time.

Bane was unperturbed. The darkness washed over them both, and the light between his fingers kept burning. “Step lightly,” he warned as they slipped inside. “I haven’t seen any Tuskens yet, but these places…”

Obi-Wan shook. He’d walked through such cold and fearful floods before, and he knew, in some deep, certain place in his chest, that he had no choice but to do so again. But he was a Jedi Master. He would brave this, and he would come out alive. “Right,” he remembered he’d replied once. “They like the caves, then?”

“…And so do other t’ings.” Bane paused and turned.

Offered his free hand.

Obi-Wan, trusting, took it.

* * *

The world was a heavy place, dull, indistinct. So it became, when he sunk into that underworld deep. Lost again, his breath came painful and nervous. His companion’s hand was fast in his though, and those bootprints, they flared bright in his mind, even though he couldn’t see the man, even as he stopped seeing anything at all.

Even as he stopped feeling, the world going numb.

Even as he stopped walking, stopped hearing, blind in every last sense.

But then, he was fluttering his eyes, and once more, his sight returned.

Light. Shapes. People slowly coming into focus.

So slowly.

“Ahhhhhh, there he is!” A cheerful bellow suddenly blasted into his brain as he was squeezed vice-tight. He coughed. A… very, very tight hug. Something smelled like _strong_ drink.

He fought through blurred and stinging eyes.

Pirate captain Hondo Ohnaka pulled back, knobbled and horned brown face finally comprehensible. That expression was contorted into absolute delight. “My friend, I did not know humans could turn that shade of blue. I am told that was _not_ good.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, flabbergasted, adrift. Oxygen was full and fresh in his lungs. It was a blessing beyond compare to simply breathe, full, deep.

Though he wasn’t controlling it. An odd weight was on his neck, a mask strangled to his face, stinging, aching. Latched there, it forced air. His fingers told him of the breathing tubes, bulky snakes on his chest. These were hooked up to a nearby machine, old and battered—the pulse of its vacuum made it clear it was the metronome to which his lungs now ticked.

“Bane?” He wheezed on an exhale, voice tinny and muffled.

Red eyes gleamed near a door. His companion leaned lanky against the wall, glaring from under that hat.

He looked like he was about to say something—and Obi-Wan reached out, to ask answers as he had in his dream… the one that hadn’t felt like a dream at all.

But the man simply pulled his gaze down, nodded, and walked away. The door shut behind.

Obi-Wan let his visions settle around his shoulders, lost in them still.

“You’ve made new and very dangerous friends.” Hondo adjusted his flamboyant red coat, grinning like he wasn’t the definition of _dangerous rapscallion_ himself. “As always, I like that about you. That one, he blew your ship hatch and dragged you out like a mother gundark!” A bright chuckle followed. “Of course, there are far more pressing matters… I heard you were offering… eh… certain _compensation_ for our trouble, fishing you out of that situation. I might have some, hm, additional fees!” His hand rotated on his wrist, as if summoning to mind endless difficulties. “For the medical supplies… for the rather determined bounty hunters we had to fire on when we dropped out of hyperspace… for getting me up early on a Primeday! All sorts of matters, my dear… er… balance-challenged associate.”

Obi-Wan tried sitting up, but he merely tipped back into his cot. His equilibrium wasn’t fully restored.

“Why don’t we get those tubes out?” Hondo continued. “You _probably_ don’t need them anymore; I was told they’d get removed about now, whether or not you’d woken up… and hey, I mean, if you start choking again, we can just put them back! Easy enough!”

“Wait… how long was I…” Obi-Wan managed, getting used to the breathing rhythm.

“Mmm, day or two?” Hondo’s fingers fluttered as he edged towards the machine. “I am a bit hazy on that; there was some, _ahem_ , small festivities—nothing to do with your situation, but I was _also_ out for a little while…” He tapped some buttons regardless of any insistent head shaking. It was a vague sort of operation, as if he wasn’t the least bit apprised on what he was doing.

Suddenly, the flow of healing air just stopped. Obi-Wan struggled with the mask, tearing it off, gasping of his own accord.

“Ah! See!” Hondo proclaimed. “That worked! Modern medicine; truly a blessing, yes?”

The world tilted. It roiled nauseatingly in Obi-Wan’s stomach, but as he lay back, he found he could manage. “Thank you…” he managed to gasp, “…for getting us out of there… but Hondo…”

The man was already swaggering off, not really absorbing any _buts_. “Of course, of course, my old friend. Now, once you collect yourself, I will be awaiting discussion of your very noble Jedi gratitude in my office, yes?” And he was gone, onto whatever it was pirates did at home.

Obi-Wan just laid there and breathed. This air was stale, the ceiling rusting in the corners, ill-maintained. There was no rattle and hum in the walls, like there would be on a ship… they must have made it back all the way to Florrum, to the cracked and burnt shell of the old Ohnaka raiding empire.

Every muscle ached, as if the acids from oxygen deprivation still harbored inside. His head hurt. His lungs wavered with another cough. That was likely a side effect of being on the breathing apparatus; he suspected it would pass.

But he was so hungry.

Neck throbbing, he turned.

There was an end table by his cot. On it, as if his needs would be anticipated, was a glass of water and one piece of red Toydarian bread. The seeds in the crust sparkled just as they’d done at the Hutt buffet.

Mind heavy, Obi-Wan touched this stolen token with surprise and thought of the man who’d left it behind. He thought of those calloused, nimble hands hauling him from the ship and to safety. He thought of their owner ensuring he would be revived, watching by that door, loyally waiting to see it done.

The bread crust needed a little determination to crack, but even a day or two of age didn’t stop it from smelling divine.

Obi-Wan ate. And silently, he turned his confused heart over and over in his hands, wondering at its shape.

* * *

When Obi-Wan was strong enough to rise, the first thing he’d done was seek his companion out, questions of indistinct forms on his lips. In his mind were footprints across the desert… a trail he seemed bound to follow.

He expected Bane would be keeping to himself, away from the rowdy Weequay that called this wreckage home.

He hadn’t expected that his partner would be entertaining company.

“This is _him_ , huh?” A ghost-pale woman loomed, staring Obi-Wan down from across the table. Dark streaks of paint were smeared around her eyes and across her nose, and next to her huge, bushy ponytail, a cybernetic antenna sprouted from her skull. Even without the sniper rifle on her back, her identity would never be mistaken: the famed hunter, Aurra Sing.

Her hips switched up as she regarded the new arrival, and the way she jutted her chest in that rust-colored, skin-tight bodysuit, well, it left little to the imagination. That was likely the point. This one did not have a reputation for being less than _in everyone_ _’s face._

Her laugh was also an icy dagger, never reaching her sullen glare. “Look at you Bane, carting around a partner! But then again, I guess that’s what you gotta do after you get completely washed out on Naboo. And _Dengar?_ Oof. Someone’s lost the touch.” She began stalking close, smirking wide and nasty, and when she was nose to nose with Obi-Wan, she finally deigned to speak to him—smarmy, like she was airing dirty laundry. “Of course, _everyone_ knows Bane here’s the kind to get sucked in a black hole, trying to show off what a good flyer he is. Just like Jango, you know? That one got careless with the Jedi too. Not surprising those two were… well-acquainted.”

Bane seemed aggrieved. He was hunched over the table and clutching a cup of caff, Todo curled up in a deactivated bundle at his elbow. There was no sneaking up on him of course; he had positioned himself to face the door—but mostly, he was grunting in response to all this, like he’d rather it just go away.

She tossed her hair. Those slender fingers walked up Obi-Wan’s chest. “So what’s your name, tall, bald, and silent? Ha! When I put it like that, it makes you two sound like twins.”

Bane’s fangs bore, but only for a moment. “This is Rako Hardeen. Big-shot Jedi killer.”

“…The pleasure’s all mine,” Obi-Wan grumbled, unsure of the wisdom of this road.

“Oh!” She could grin like a Karkarodon when blood hit the water. “Well, listen to you! A Coruscant boy! Aren’t… you… _fancy?_ ” Her nose scrunched, like this was sickeningly adorable, though her pointed fingers made every word a hard jab. “Which Jedi did you knock off then? Anyone good?”

“…Master Pong Krell. On Umbara.” Certain Jedi were in no way done a disservice by being part of an enormous lie.

“With that gun?”

“…Yes.”

“Pffft.” Sing waved a dismissive wrist in his face. “What the kriff, Bane? Any idiot can take out a Jedi with a rifle at sufficient range. This nobody is the one you decide to run with? And after _my_ offer?”

“Wasn’t much of an offer. Don’t get familiar.” Something darkened in Sing’s sardonic glare, something that raised the hairs on Obi-Wan’s neck. “I’ve got a contract with him, a job that isn’t done yet. Call it…” He flicked his toothpick into the garbage. “…Personal matters.”

“Oh. Well. If something’s personal for _you_ , it must be interesting.” Sing returned her glare to Obi-Wan, who was crossing his arms, puffing up like he’d done once in disguise. “Hm. You know… you _do_ look familiar.” She gestured to his brow. “Around this area. And I think I’ve heard your name once or twice on the boards… though I’m _certain_ I’d remember the face of a Jedi hunter, especially one who sounded like he was fresh off the shuttle from the Core.”

Bane began checking something on his datapad like he couldn’t be bothered. Great. Well, Obi-Wan supposed that if a _big shot_ couldn’t handle this welcoming committee, he wasn’t someone that could be helped at all. “ _I_ might not be a household name yet, but you…! Didn’t think I’d be meeting anyone so highly ranked all the way out here.”

The first genuine glint of mirth lit her smile since the encounter began. “Hm. Shows what you know. Bane here tell you about the Hutt jailbreak we worked together?”

The datapad leaned down. One could swear Bane’s eye twitched.

“Oh yes, at length. He said you didn’t miss a _single_ shot. As a fellow rifleman, I respect that.”

“Hm!” Sing’s hands went to her hips, her calculating gaze washing him up and down anew. “Y’know, there’s a fine line between being a suck-up and being charming, but… you’re almost on the right side of it. Huh.” She leaned in, smelling like gun oil too, but something else, something unsettlingly musky sweet. “Stay out of my way, freshcut. I don’t know what kind of blowjobs you’re giving to make you think you’ve got the right to strut like you’re top tier, but you’re _not_ on my level.”

She snorted and brushed past, head held high, beads clacking in her hair.

Hm. Clearly, charm was not the key with that one.

“She’s pleasant,” Obi-Wan commented, sitting down directly next to his partner, suddenly feeling quite awkward.

Bane just gave a tired heave of air, a static crackle around him that did not invite contact. “Don’t encourage her.” What a slouch he had: just an unhappy, tense sag, weary and burnt. Indeed, it seemed to discourage asking anything about Sing at all. And talk of the vision? Oh, that would go over swimmingly; Obi-Wan could feel the mockery burning him alive now.

In his mind’s eye, regardless, he saw a hand stretching out at the mouth of a dark cave after countless steps in solitude.

He saw a piece of stolen bread on a table.

He licked his lips, adjusting himself in his seat. “So, have I missed anything, these last two days?”

“Can’t say as ye have,” the man snipped, slamming his cup on the table and sulking. The skin around his glassy eyes was loose, growing dark. He wasn’t sleeping again, was he?

Well… Obi-Wan supposed they _were_ stranded, beaten, pursued, and likely about to be extorted. So help him, all he could think of doing to ease tension was small talk. “…Sing mentioned Jango Fett?”

“…What about him?” the weary grumble drifted.

“You two knew each other?”

“Considerin’ he’s dead, I don’t see who cares.” Those shoulders hunched. But after another sip of caff, Bane did add, “…Tch. Whatever. I guess. We had some… friendly competitions between us now and again. Some jobs. Karkin’ good at what he did—never let me forget it. Learned a few tricks from him, I suppose… of course, it’s just good sense to pick a Mando’s brain for Jedi matters. Everybody knows _that_.”

“…He certainly was formidable, right up to the end.”

Interest flitted across Bane’s face, casual, careful. “…Were ye one of the Jedi there then? When he was killed?”

“Yes. Though I confess, I was too preoccupied by the beasts and the droids trying to mow me down to see much of Fett. It was Master Windu who fought him.”

Those fingers drummed a soft pattern. Forward. Back. “Was like a new era that next morning, ye know. Fer hunters.”

There was a gravity in the words: no grief, more like a pilot remembering the sheer sensory overload of their first nebula. How strange that was. All Obi-Wan remembered was the dull dread in his gut, the thumping, sick feeling of the dark side growing. New era indeed. The Grand Army of the Republic had first touched the soil of combat that day, Jedi at the fore, and there they would remain—the start of the Clone Wars, all the death and horror and madness the galaxy was about to endure.

Bane snickered. “Kind of funny, actually.”

“What in the _world_ is funny about it?”

“Well, I assume Fett died with his helmet on. His people want those t’ings to be the last t’ing ye see, the only t’ing survivors _remember_. But two hours after, his damn face was the only one on the holonets.” Bane’s raspy chuckling grew louder. “I didn’t know about the clone t’ing! No one knew about the clone t’ing! Fett just decided to make himself the face of an entire war, then kicks off and leaves it to everyone else! _Karkin_ _’ Mandalorians_.” It was almost an affectionate spit, those words, a toast to an honored rival. Obi-Wan had never seen its like. Perhaps Jango really had been a friend, of sorts. Perhaps Bane grieved in ways strange to most.

“It’s just… I know you’re not one for enjoying company, so hearing about this acquaintanceship surprises me. I…” Obi-Wan skirted around the truth he wanted to speak a moment longer, but eventually, there was nowhere else for it to go. “…I was also quite pleasantly surprised to hear that you’d bothered dragging me from that wreckage a couple days back.”

A sharp shrug. A long silence.

Then:

“…T’ought ye were dead.”

That lay between them for a moment, fraught, rigid with a painstaking neutrality. Bane wasn’t… wasn’t looking at him still. Like that would mean too much.

“I stopped breathing?”

“Yeah. But there wasn’t much to breathe.” He just stared at his caff, the thin line of his mouth drawing downward. “Had just one emergency oxygen bottle. Stupid. It was pressurized, so ye didn’t even need to inhale. All the same… wasn’t sure it was takin’. Ye were cold as a corpse. Couldn’t get a pulse. Kept alternating it between us though until Ohnaka turned up.”

Obi-Wan let that sit. Swallowing with some difficulty, he brought his hands together, feeling his fingertips, as if the sensation was new. He’d… had no idea. They’d both walked that close to death? Truly? “I must have put myself in a deep trance…” he mused, and felt so small. “I was channeling the Force, to help your droid correct the broken transmitter…”

Bane still wasn’t looking directly at him, keeping his eyes, like his hands, locked tight on his mug. “After the pirates got the ship aboard, they cracked the hatch. Got oxygen in. I wasn’t too far gone… I got it the rest of the way open.”

_Blew it and dragged me out like a mother gundark._

“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me; I suspect I wouldn’t have pulled through otherwise.” Obi-Wan was again in his dream: two sets of lungs, breath shared between them… a companion’s taste on his tongue, awash in the dark and the stars.

He was glad the real Bane was looking everywhere but him, honestly. That heat-sensing vision would have known things he wasn’t sure he wanted known.

The man made an uncomfortable puff of air anyway. “Well… I’m… persistent.”

Obi-Wan nodded, distracted by a growing need to reach out. But even a friendly shoulder pat of camaraderie would probably get traded for a knee-jerk smack. Bane’s aversion to casual touch… maybe he’d been attacked too many times to trust it… or maybe Duros just didn’t have the same instinctive skin hunger humans did. All the same, there _was_ a different sort of hunger in his eyes when they did flicker over, something Obi-Wan was unsure of in its nature. Something clearly… _affected_ regarding this conversation.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Obi-Wan pried. A long-suffering sigh answered. “You just don’t look… well-rested. Is there anything more going on I should know about?”

The caff was strangled tighter. Bane was silent for a long minute. Then: “Can’t sleep.”

“…Can’t?”

“Can’t. Sleep. Not yet. Not with _Sing_ and _Ohnaka_ and everyone keepin’ a _real_ close eye, probably about to sell me out. Sell _us_ out, now that yer not in that… coma. Half-dead. Whatever ye were.” Something wavered there, something queasy-sick in his voice and his tone… something wild and fractured that Obi-Wan had glimpsed during the interrogation at the start of this mess. “I don’t need to see those… t’ings in my dreams.” Bane’s growl turned deep. “Not now. Not until we’re off this thief-infested, stinkin’ ball of dirt.”

He took one more sip. It drained his mug dry.

“Maybe I died on that ship after all,” he said suddenly. “Maybe the afterlife is just sufferin’.”

Obi-Wan started, not sure exactly how to respond to _that_ , but a boisterous new voice suddenly broke in. “ _My friends!_ ” There was Hondo, arms spread wide in the doorway, a plumed Kowakian monkey-lizard chittering on his shoulder. “Finally, you are both here!”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan stalled. “I was about to come speak with you, but—”

“Of course you were! That’s why you’re in my office!” The man just slung himself into another chair, kicking his boots right up on the table. His gold rings shone as he wiggled his fingers in anticipation.

This… office… didn’t look like such. There was garbage on the floor and a few weapons slung on the walls… unless Hondo was referring to this entire compound as his office. Possible.

“So. Hardeen,” Bane growled pointedly. “What exactly _is_ the reward yer givin’ these pirates?” His face added, _ye mention that case of credits, and I_ _’ll pull yer spine out through yer teeth._

“Hardeen? Oh, are we using code names?” Hondo winced.

“I told ye about this, Ohnaka.”

“…Right. Yes. Code names! Of course. Ha! Oh. Silly me. But!” Hondo edged in, hand swishing like a knife. “To be clear, we are not just _pirates_ to you.” He sprung up, came around, and wrapped one wide arm around Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic shoulders. “ _We are practically family!_ Our faces, if we were not from two entirely different mothers, fathers, and species, they would look the same. And this one here—I always knew you couldn’t resist the underworld!” A dramatic hand rose to the sky. “Leaving behind all that stuffy, fancy-robed nonsense to answer the true call of adventure! I am so proud!”

“I did not…!” Obi-Wan slid away from that chummy half-hug. “I’m not cast out from the Order; I’m—”

“Oh my word! If you’re not exiled… you could be a double agent! I… I…” Hondo clutched his chest, face growing quite solemn. “I did not know my influence on you was so profound, Master Kenobi. I can only graciously accept your immediate offer to join my crew, to feed us information about—”

“ _Ohnaka_.” Bane suddenly leaned in, whispering low, threatening. “I can tell already ye’ve got a big mouth—and that yer goin’ to demand a lot to keep it shut. Why don’t we stay on track, eh? What do ye want in return fer the tow and yer silence?”

Hondo chuckled. A keen look flashed through his eyes, that which clearly had kept him alive all these years, no matter how much of a show his flamboyant demeanor put on. “Me? Oh, do not _wound_ me so, friend. Looking out for each other, yes… I would do this for Kenobi anytime—as I know,” he added, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder tightly, “he would do the same for me. And because I know it is his way to repay his allies… it _does_ just so happen I know _exactly_ what you could do as a little thank you.”

Obi-Wan sensed a _problem_ coming. He didn’t know it’s size or shape. But he knew. “…Again, I’m Hardeen. What is it?”

“Of course, of course. Now, there is a little snag my people are having with… mail delivery.”

“Mail, eh?” Bane lit one of his cigarettes. He looked as if Obi-Wan’s growing headache was contagious.

“…Yes… we ordered a large shipment, you see, of medicine.”

“You ordered _and_ paid for it,” Obi-Wan clarified.

“Of course we paid! Paid dearly!” Hondo’s index finger raised once more with fierce indignation. “But the medicine hasn’t been delivered. Off these people went, to where some other party is probably paying _more_. My crew…” He dropped his hand to his chest, thumping it like his heart ached terribly. “…We suffer! Ours is dangerous work! What are we to do, without our medicine? I ask you!” Somehow, the other arm managed to tug a squirming Jedi even closer again. The monkey-lizard hopped on top of Obi-Wan’s head too, patting the sprouting fuzz like it had found a drum. “…Especially, of course, after things have been so hard for us lately, after the Republic _lost the system_. And that General Grievous you were chasing _ran roughshod over my home_.”

Obi-Wan didn’t really have a soothing way to respond to that. It was rather true.

Bane stared, face an extremely controlled _nothing_. He tapped the ashes from his cigarette on the floor. “So ye want us to track down yer wayward cargo ship. Are ye lookin’ fer its crew to face a reckonin’, or do ye just want the shipment?”

“Ah, lovely, you are a motivated one!” Hondo wiggled his bejeweled fingers in delight. “No no, no need for bloodshed, unless they force the issue… take care of them as you see fit. These people, usually their cargo is the same every time they take this route, so reclaiming one hold’s worth would do nicely. I can give you their ship’s designation and general timetables, though you’ll have to hurry, of course, to catch them.”

“Hrm.” Bane puffed a ring to the ceiling.

Hondo turned his smile to Obi-Wan, something both overwhelmingly pleasant and sharp. “I, of course, will need to hang onto your ship while its repairs are seen to, yes?” The monkey-lizard chittered on his new friend’s head, leaning over, locking eyes upside-down.

An annoyed edge ground into Bane’s voice, his gaze narrowed. “It’s gene-locked, Ohnaka. I’ll be the one repairin’ it when we get back. But ye seem to t’ink we’ll be catchin’ up to this cargo of yers _without_ it. Explain.”

“Oh, gene-locked… I see…” He seemed vaguely disappointed. “Well, I’ll lend you a craft. This matter… it simply will not wait for the care your poor, _very_ wounded vessel requires. And I suppose… if you’d like to fix your ship yourself… perhaps we can talk about cutting a deal for any parts you need later, yes?”

“Hrm,” Bane said again, frowning, and then impatiently waved for Obi-Wan to come closer.

“Yes, talk amongst yourselves. But don’t talk too long.” Hondo chuckled as he released his embrace, his pet pattering back to his own shoulder. “These things are… time-sensitive, of course.”

He backed away, shuttering the door behind him.

Bane affixed his companion with a glare of certain accusations.

“Are you terribly surprised by something?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“No. Not at all. I am, however, not enjoyin’ offerin’ what’s left of the _Xanadu Blood_ as collateral to these thugs so they can hand us some piece-of-shab transport to do some second-rate job for no pay! What we _need_ is a way to get to that Black Sun work. Besides, Ohnaka’s not givin’ us relevant details. I can _smell_ it on him.”

“Of course he’s hiding something. He’s a pirate. But we did promise a reward—”

“ _You_ did.”

“…Alright! Yes! I promised a reward. And I suspect we’re going to need every credit in your case to even _think_ about moving forward with the previous plans. If we can help Hondo out, settle that debt—”

Bane growled. “I ought to stay here and make ye work it off yerself.”

“Come now. You weren’t getting out of that situation either. You owe them as much as I do.”

That was what did it. It was like the idea of _owing_ gave him a rash. “Fine! Fine. Wouldn’t trust ye to do this job alone anyway.”

“Thank you.”

He gave a pointed look. “But Ohnaka isn’t goin’ to even the scales once we pay him. He’s not just forgettin’ what ye gotta be called in public because he’s an idiot, because he’s _not_. He’s sayin’ that if ye don’t dance to his tune… he might slip with yer name, see who picks up on it. And he’ll use that tack again too, to keep remindin’ ye that ye should make yerself useful, stallin’ yer leavin’ to see how many uses he can get.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but his threats are usually a little less subtle than that.”

“ _He knows what he_ _’s doin’._ And ye know why? Sing’s here. She’s Ohnaka’s old squeeze—did ye know that? And she’s run with Dengar and Bossk in the past. Now, she’s been up in my face since we landed, tryin’ to see if she can get a cut of what we’re up to, and she’s got certain talents. No doubt she’d be able to find information about us we don’t want found. She probably already has. Maybe her and her old playmate know exactly what we might be worth to the right people, and they’re just weighin’ if they can get more out of _us_ or out of _them_.”

Obi-Wan considered this, sighing, slumping. The truth was… Bane might have been paranoid, and also very strung out, but Hondo…

He was a man of profit, truly.

“So you say we do this, get our things, and run.”

“…Yeah. And we prepare fer yer friends to try and kill us or sell us off if they even get a whiff of that.”

Obi-Wan slumped, sighing, putting his face in his hands.

Wonderful. Now they were both sulking.

* * *

Blood was still spattered on the walls inside the _Xanadu Blood_. A discarded, crumpled can of oxygen lay on the floor. A gutted console sat at the bow. For all intents and purposes, it really did look like a grave.

The ravages of desperation—Obi-Wan traced a hand over a terrible crack and crumple in the hatch seal, where it seemed Bane had destroyed a broken latch to ultimately get them out. The ship’s bottom was also burst open and ragged, savagely eviscerated.

It was nothing less than a miracle that this vessel’s occupants had survived.

For a moment, he just sat in his old chair. It squealed. The ship couldn’t be saved. He knew it already.

His thighs flexed, just a little, recalling the one good memory he’d experienced in this seat at least. The rest was a mess, and he wasn’t entirely unhappy to say goodbye.

Flushing, he moved to the pilot’s chair, took the bypass card Bane had given him, and inserted it in a console slot. It gave him nothing. The ship’s power had finally, utterly failed. Silent apologies on his lips, he channeled the Force and began breaking locks manually, wrenching open the inner compartments. It wasn’t as if that would depreciate value. But as he loaded up the cart down below with what remained of their supplies—and the case of credits—he couldn’t help but feel like a carrion-seeker, picking apart the bones.

Bane had told Hondo he was looking at repairing this craft…? That was surely a lie.

At any rate, the man had split from him to seek out another ship that would get them through what lay ahead. He seemed to be stalking the repair bay—Obi-Wan and his cargo cart caught back up easily. Hondo was lingering over the man’s shoulder with his bright, cunning smile and all the hospitality his clan might offer. Sing watched too from across the room. Obi-Wan often caught her in the corner of his eyes as he moved around the compound, smiling that killer’s grin, as if she was trying to make it sweet.

“…won’t work either,” Bane was snipping, stepping over a transport’s landing foot and running a studied hand across the underside of the hull. Another caff was in his hands. Todo hovered watchfully to his left.

And Hondo’s cheerfulness seemed as if it was faltering in the wake of all this—just a little.“What’s wrong with this one?”

“I doubt it gets even twenty klicks a minute in a vacuum. Not fast enough. Not by a long shot.”

“My friend…” An expressive wrist twirled. “We have used that ship in more raids than—”

Bane backhanded a panel without looking. It just… dropped off. “It won’t work. Ye want this job done, or do ye want to kill us in a way both expensive and stupid?”

“You…” Hondo chuckled impatiently, tapping his foot. Two _very_ armed crewmates scowled over his shoulder. “Hrm. Yes. You sir, have a discerning eye. But this is the fifth vessel you’ve turned down. We get to the point where beggars cannot be choosers, you know? You’ll notice, from the debris around this place, that our resources haven’t exactly been the same since the Separatists—”

Bane sauntered in, arms crossed. “Just let me pick one outta yer fleet—not these sorry backups. Any of ‘em except yer personal craft. I’ll pick it, and I’ll bring it back fine, or I’ll pay ye double what it’s worth to replace it.”

“Oh! _Double?_ Well. I see… I see. You know, I am not an _unreasonable_ man…” Those sparkling fingers drummed together. “I suppose… you could have a look…”

Bane swept away with him, and Obi-Wan followed. Sing padded a certain distance behind.

It wasn’t an extensive search after that, no—Obi-Wan knew what Bane was about the moment they arrived in the main bays. Those lips twitched, that long gait speeding. A crudely painted craft was hunched near the fleet’s center that he made an immediate line for.

Why would he want…? Eurgh. Ugly. _Garish_. Poorly rendered and painfully bright piratical slogans were sprayed on its side, and on its deployed loading ramp, a man was prone and snoring, surrounded by empty bottles.

But Obi-Wan stopped and tried to give it a second look, as difficult on the eyes as that was, because his companion was no fool.

Hrm. Perhaps…

Under that veneer, a sharp, keen thing was resting, wasn’t it? This craft was much bigger than the _Xanadu Blood_ , built for significantly more ill-gotten cargo and possibly up to six merry outlaws. Its cannons were powerful and its angles dynamic. That pointed nose was hungry. Mean. This ship lurked like a beast that had been forced to wear a silly floral dress, for it had no other choice.

Bane brushed a hand over an extremely rude and well-endowed monkey-lizard vandalized onto the hull, as if he only saw the midnight black beneath, the faded name _Justicar_.

“This one,” he said flatly.

“…Ah…” Hondo hedged. “…That one…”

“This one, or we aren’t fast enough to catch yer prey. This one or nothin’, Ohnaka. And if ye don’t like it, ye can always ask _that_ guy to do the work, can’t ye?” He pointed at the passed-out drunk.

“Hrm.” Hondo went over and toed the sleeping crewman on the ramp. “Hey. Wake up.”

That got a bleary wiggle. “Yeah, cap’n?”

“Get everything off this craft. We’re lending it out.”

“ _What?_ ” It was like the man had been told to hand over his firstborn. “Cap’n,” he slurred. “My pretty… pretty girl here… ye wouldn’t… can’t just give her to someone other’n me to…”

Hondo kneeled, smiling, like he could sing off someone’s armor and sell it back at triple the price. And he began whispering, patting shoulders, getting that belligerent, displaced soul to just silently pick up the bottles and stumble off. It was a charming-yet-strained look he set upon them all when he turned back around. “How soon do you leave?”

“As soon as I run a diagnostic,” Bane said quietly. “And move my necessities on board.”

“Which I have here,” Obi-Wan intoned.

“Good, good.” Hondo’s hands rubbed together, on edge. “Not a scratch on that beautiful paint, yes?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Bane was already prying open access hatches, testing connections.

Edging away, Hondo put a friendly hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. And though it was warm, there was a certain grip to it… a sharp glint under those emerald goggle lenses. “You’ll make sure your new friend keeps that promise, _won_ _’t you_ … Hardeen?”

“I will certainly do my best.”

He couldn’t help but think Hondo’s smile, as the man clapped his back, was much like Aurra’s in the corner—as if she’d seen something adorable, something she liked enough to mount on the wall.

Perhaps there was a reason these two ran together, on occasion.

And he rather didn’t want to find out what that was.

* * *

In two hours, matters were settled. The _Justicar_ was loaded; the diagnostics were run. Bane’s little droid had made a fuss about the lack of proper maintenance and had gotten right to doing it. Its complaining was deserved—the ship, it… it smelled. A horde of sweaty, drunk, and unwashed pirates had come and gone for who knew how long, all dirty feet and bravado dares, and that left a mark. _Several_.

Obi-Wan tried not to think about how long he’d be locked up inside. But as he did the final checks, he noticed Bane had disappeared.

_Hm?_

Well… perhaps the man had finally drunk enough caff to become a living hyperdrive, getting off Florrum that way. Good for him!

But somehow, Obi-Wan already knew the truth, finding that invisible trail effortlessly.

The _Xanadu Blood_ lay disconsolate as always, but it wasn’t alone now. Bane hunched by its side, a quiet, lone statue, gazing at his once-noble vessel.

Obi-Wan came up from the left. Those red eyes were… unblinking. The wheels were turning behind. “…Was there anything else you wanted to grab?” he offered, knowing they likely weren’t going to return. The thought did make him wince a little. Perhaps if his partner decided to skip out on paying for their new ship, he himself might gather the funds eventually to make it right. Hondo _was_ being helpful. That deserved fair business.

Wait. Knowing an honorable Jedi would back the deal… was that the reason Bane threw out such a high sum?

 _Blast_.

Regardless, the man’s icy brain looked laser-locked, and there was no room to ask. Obi-Wan just let him seethe: after all, one more piece of his formidable reputation and achievements was being torn away—the only thing he had left that wasn’t on his back.

Slowly, those long legs started to trot, up to the dead starfighter that had carried him so far. A hand came up, gently feeling the bloom of melted metal where the rockets had burst and torn apart a wing. It traced the slick line where the shattered hatch met green hull, brushed the empty carcass-rip where an engine used to lay.

Silently, Bane climbed into the cockpit and sat in his chair.

His face was blank.

His eyes twitched.

Then, he drew his tools from his coat and stabbed into the console like a frenzied beast.

Wires tore free. Panels ripped from the frame. Bane strangled the navicomputer, hurling it to the floor at Obi-Wan’s feet, an angry spark arcing around it. The man didn’t even care. He tore out the screens, smashed the controls, and pitched the mangled, lifeless remains to the ground, an animal putting its kill out of its misery.

And then he stood, silent. He disembarked. He gathered up the ripped-out navicomputer and all of the other little data-containing organs he’d decided to keep, and began stalking away.

It was like watching a last hope go up in a pyre.

“It was a good ship,” Obi-Wan said quietly, following behind. He didn’t expect the man to acknowledge, and that was fine. This had been a funerary rite, no matter what Bane would say out loud. No matter if they had survived, they were still adrift, the scavengers closing in.

Obi-Wan finally reached out, put a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

And Bane, though he twitched at the touch, did not pull away.


	12. A Quiet Den, III

There was no regret in Obi-Wan’s heart, leaving Florrum. In particular, he did not mourn putting Miss Sing behind them—she just peered as the ramp went up, smiling. Then she winked and pantomimed a _rather_ rude act that was implied to be the reason he and Bane were working together.

“…I say.”

“She’s not wrong.” Bane’s face remained flatline and grim. The ramp sealed.

“She doesn’t have to do that, though.”

“Ye seem far too shocked that bounty hunters aren’t the most polite.”

“I’m not; I’m merely… disappointed.”

“Tch.” He almost seemed to lighten, a rasping rumble in his chest, as if he wanted to laugh… but it quickly died. They moved to the cockpit. “Let’s get this over with. She and Ohnaka are both goin’ to know right where to find us if they want to get difficult. So we do the job, get this cargo to them, and get them off our backs.” He began making calculations, setting the navicomputer. “I’m goin’ to just take this ship, ye know.”

“I know.”

“He’s not goin’ to like it.”

“Oh, I know that too.”

Bane’s lips were a thin line. “But I’m not a contract-breaker, Obi-Wan. It’ll be squared, accordin’ to the terms.”

Obi-Wan started, surprised. Because he was taking care of the takeoff from the co-pilot’s chair, the ship jerked and rattled. Really? Bane thought it was important to reinforce he was an honorable business partner? He was… using first names now?

Hm. Would _not_ calling him _Cad_ be considered insulting?

What a name to choose; _honestly_ _…_

But finally, Obi-Wan managed to even the _Justicar_ out. It had a certain rev, didn’t it? Just punched into the sky like it knew these pilots were kidnapping it from its flock, and it was going to exact its revenge on their stomachs. It was temperamental enough to fly even without distractions. 

“Heh. Do ye usually let Skywalker do this part?” Bane sucked a toothpick as he drawled, intent on his task as he jolted back and forth in his seat.

“I am an excellent pilot, thank you.”

“Yer a blind grandmother handed her first podracer.” The astrogation specifications were tapped in. “But we can make the jump as soon as we clear the atmosphere.”

“I can’t believe you do those calculations that fast in your head.”

“It’s easy. Just another route towards Bothawui.”

“…Really? We’re going there after all?”

“Not direct, not at first. This cargo ship of Hondo’s sounds like it intends to be one of the ten thousand runnin’ through that hub every day though. Good t’ing Bothan fuel’s expensive… these traders apparently stop at a fill station _here_ a few hours before headin’ to their final destination.” He pointed to a spot on an onscreen map. “Security’s goin’ to be a lot less. We can likely board, get the cargo, and get gone. This ship, from the specifications, is small-time, so it’ll be fast.” He seemed to be getting… ideas. An air of confidence.

Obi-Wan still thought he needed to get more rest before making detailed plans. “I confess, I’m still a bit concerned about committing what is technically piracy. Even if Hondo _did_ pay for undelivered cargo, the authorities might still—”

“Do ye honestly t’ink I can’t handle a few fuel-station cops? Goin’ to scramble our ship signal to throw off scanners. Any rookie can do that. Hardly a challenge worthy of my skill.”

Well. No. Not everybody _could_ do that.

But Bane looked as if that was the last thing on his mind. His lips thinned as they emerged into the stars, and then as space warped and bent, as the craft vibrated into hyperspace and the auto-pilot took over. “It’s set. Travel time should be about a day.”

“…Plenty of time to get used to the ship odor.”

Bane growled at that. Slouched back in his seat. Crossed his arms.

He didn’t seem to like being reminded.

And cut off from his caff drip, a worn hollowness was starting to make itself clear on his face again. Was that sadness? Fear of what lay ahead? Just endless weariness, the sort that preceded a hard fall? It was hard to say. He wasn’t an open man, and the fact that this was showing in his form at all was… worrisome. If he really had been up for two days… wait, no, he probably hadn’t really slept on Nal Hutta either, and…

Oh dear.

Obi-Wan excused himself, considering an intervention. He first treated his still-aching head, neck, and back with bacta, then found the bunks, setting out their things. Truly, he only had the energy to clean out one of the two-bed rooms—just sweeping away the garbage was enough to wear him out. 

_Here I am, fussing over his health._ It was sort of ridiculous, really. It wasn’t as if Bane would want it.

But all the same…

The trance-vision he’d experienced might have been a mere dream, might have been many things. Yet he’d chosen his road. He’d _chosen_ who to follow. 

Obi-Wan put on some tea.

When he returned a half hour later, his companion was worryingly right where he’d been left: unmoving, just listlessly watching the hypnotic light. It set off all the quiet alarms. “Well, now that we have some time, why don’t we take a minute for ourselves?”

Those tired eyes lifted from the console… took in Obi-Wan’s expecting stance. Flickered. Up they went to his face, as if trying to interpret it. Down they went between his legs, reading an implication.

“…A minute?” Bane’s answer fell like quiet, bleary syrup. His head tilted, gaze suspicious.

“Yes.” The ship was riding steady, after all; it didn’t need a babysitter. An alert would sound, should anything interfere with their journey, and Todo was present to monitor matters—the droid was humming away at minor tweaks nearby. So, Obi-Wan turned and beckoned, walking off. He knew his companion would follow. He saw that keen mind tapping through its questions and curiosities.

And he made it halfway to the berths before he was proven correct—Bane came up to his right, wove in tight, and bodied him quite casually into a wall. “What _exactly_ , Kenobi, are ye on about here?” His respiratory slits made a slight dilation. Mm. He was scenting, and thus, wasn’t disinclined, despite… whatever haze he was fighting through. Good.

“I’m saying we’ve had a particularly rough ordeal, and I’m interested in something… relaxing for us both.”

Bane evaluated that, as if quite startled, face moving but an inch away. An odd, wheezy noise of disbelief came from his chest. “Ye really want to tell me ye’ve vaulted right past yer weird Jedi shame complex in _three days?_ Was it the near death experience?” Something in his voice pattered quick, thin, and unsettling. His demanding fingers had already clicked open their belts, though. “Well, fine. There’s a closet, if ye want it private. Or here, if ye don’t, but the droid might comment.” Those hips began to press tighter.

Well! “Both of those options are bad ideas, I’m afraid.”

“And _any_ of this is a better one?!” Those mocking teeth gleamed—that queasy-strange, electric jitter from the last day growing, that thing that was uncomfortable and wary and stared into nothing for too long, speaking at length of old, dead hunter friends and refusing to let itself dream. “Like ye care,” the man rumbled. “Ye like it more, the worse of an idea it is.”

Obi-Wan captured those hands in his own. He knew he hadn’t imagined their tremor, the fault in their perfectly honed precision.

An impatient sneer answered, but that head tilted, listening.

“When I loaded the ship, I laid our bedrolls on top of the berths so we wouldn’t have to touch _whatever_ these mattresses have been through. We’re going to those.”

Fractured air blew over his cheeks, those hands tensing. “Yer tryin’ to give me orders now?” 

“Just come on.”

Bane grumbled something about mouthy Jedi, but he stalked after.

Truly, these bunks weren’t great, as they smelled quite stale, but so did everything else. Obi-Wan had gotten the ventilation running, and now, he gestured at their things—including Bane’s bag, his tools, and all those spicy dried meats he’d apparently purchased but hadn’t shared. It was as peaceful as one could make it.

On a small corner table were two hot cups of tea, freshly made, one for each bed’s occupant.

“What the kark is…” The look said Bane was beginning to wonder if the potentiality of sex was worth it.

“Take one. Tea is refreshing.”

A growl. “ _Kenobi—_ ”

“Also, since I know you’ll ask, the leaves were very reasonable. Only a slight deviation from the Nal Hutta shopping list!” Obi-Wan passed over the cup, picking up his own.

Bane’s glare could have boiled that tea all over again.

“You know, we can always swap cups, if you’re scared I’m going to poison you.”

Lips curled. Teeth flashed.

But Bane sat, the bunk creaking under him, taking up that little beverage like it was the well of all hatred in the universe.

A sip was taken. He did not comment.

Obi-Wan settled in the chair opposite. Truly, this brew was quite good—floral, fruity. He drank deep. “You can take off your coat at least. Try and be comfortable.”

“…I don’t want to be comfortable. I want ye to drop yer trousers if it suits ye, don’t if it doesn’t, and then I want to get back to work. There’s a lot of it, if we want to—”

“Naturally. And we can do that, I suppose. _After_ this.” Those high mental walls… it was clear this suspicious bastard was darting up behind them again, aiming his gun sights down at anyone who might try to climb. This entire exchange, he’d stopped looking at his partner again.

Drifted back into last names, too.

“…So is this teatime a Jedi t’ing,” he finally snipped after another minute. “Or one of the many, many t’ings wrong with _you specifically?_ ”

“Tea is for everyone.” Yawning and content, finishing his drink, Obi-Wan set it aside and finally joined his partner on that bed. And there he waited, patient, as Bane finished his. The man must have actually liked it, or he’d never have indulged in the whole cup.

And this was good, because this tea was the sort that gifted the _very mild suggestion_ that the drinker should _get some kriffing sleep_.

Obi-Wan yawned again.

And perhaps they might rest side by side. Who knew? He didn’t object to that idea; he was exhausted himself. Bacta healed a great deal, after all, but not a troubled mind… or the body’s memory of a trauma.

He’d been hurt a lot, this past week. Eventually, hardy Jedi of the Force or not, it… compounded.

It was good, this quiet, safe place. And Bane’s tongue, now soaked in that floral spice… it might taste wonderful as well. Perhaps those lips would be the same as in the dream-desert, smoke and heat and life.

Maybe that part _was_ a good idea.

And it would get the man to at least lie down.

Bane didn’t object to his belt getting shrugged open, to getting pushed back, his partner between his legs. From his pulsing, stiff hard-on, it was clear that the confusion and lack of sleep didn’t affect his willingness. His cup clattered onto the floor as Obi-Wan drew him into his mouth. Those narrow hips bucked. “Finally…”

Obi-Wan traced his touch up Bane’s shirt, feeling that flat, firm stomach. A content hiss made him glad. He hoped it tingled hot, that desperate tug of electricity between them—Bane’s fingers curled into the sheets, back arching. His member pulsed harder, his eyes half closed as Obi-Wan’s tongue curled around his tip in soft greeting. Then, he shuddered and gasped as he was slid deeper, in and out, his partner trying to find the most sensitive spots with his tongue’s careful work.

“ _Where the kriff_ did a Jedi learn this, eh?” he managed, almost like he was talking to himself, a heightened exhale as he breathed faster.

There was a lot Obi-Wan could say to that. Foregoing attachments and relationships wasn’t the same as being utterly chaste, for one, and for two, he was full of surprises. Even for himself. But he couldn’t quite describe how incredibly gratifying it was to see his partner at a total loss, involuntarily bucking softly into his hand and mouth.

As if he’d _really_ needed this.

Obi-Wan’s stomach hummed with liquid fire as he kept sliding his head up and down, letting the minutes pass and his companion unravel, words turning only into urgent breathing. He denied his own desires, letting them wrap around exploring this Duros under him, whose slack moan was bordering dangerously close to a surrender.

Those hips convulsed.

The small bulb at the base of his erection was something Obi-Wan wanted to question. It was softer than the shaft, wrapped about it like a cushion, dead center and pulsing like human testicles. Though more… secure, perhaps. A press against it with his fingers made Bane shift slightly, eyes still closed. Obi-Wan slid him deep inside again, reaching that thicker flesh and running his tongue gently alongside.

The hoarse, deep moan that resonated out of Bane’s throat rattled hot through his core. An extra burst of lubrication slicked out of that tip and coated Obi-Wan’s tongue, sweet and strange.

Ah. So that felt _very good_.

Excellent. Obi-Wan did it again, and Bane bucked so hard it almost caused a gag. Some new word gasped out of him, something that wasn’t a _kriff_ or a _kark_ or _shab_ or some other common oath, but a word recognizable in its primal nature nonetheless.

A third time, and Bane arched wordlessly, moaning as he burst. Obi-Wan had to release him, a hot, metallic-tasting slick drenching his mouth and leaking down his lips and chin—and yes, he should have expected that given all the body language, but it still caught him by surprise.

Also, there was _quite a lot_. Bane was still leaking it as he pulled away, laughing, watching Obi-Wan attempting to tactfully spit and wipe himself in the sheets.

“Not a swallower, eh?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. That was one thing to say, but quite another to do when there were a lot of unanswered notions about compatible biologies.

“Kriff, well, that was surprisingly good.” The man stretched languidly, like a feline in a sunbeam, tension leaking away into the sheets. Obi-Wan smirked, a hot skip of utterly immature pride in his chest. And a chuckle answered it, approval of the arrogance. Bane wiped himself off and tucked himself cleanly away. “Maybe we’d have fought less when we met if ye’d let me know ye could do _that_.”

“Yes, I’m sure that would have solved _everything_ over Ziro’s dead body.”

“Tch!” Bane scratched his chest, almost lazily. Perhaps it was finally sinking in that he’d lived. That he was _safe_. “…Pretty sure there’s more than one bounty hunter that’d let go of a million credits to have a Jedi suck ‘em off.”

“…You really have to say it in the crudest way you can, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I can tell ye hate it.” Now he was just sinking into his blankets, his forearm over his eyes, like the world was very bright. “…Why don’t ye… hm.” He twisted comfortably against his familiar smells in this new place. “Why don’t ye check up on the cockpit…”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched in spite of himself, seeing those eyelids droop, and he placed a gentle pat on that stomach, getting up to go.

At that touch, something inside Bane suddenly snapped stiff. His arm fell from his face, a snarl of mercurial anger welling as that hand was shoved away. “Hey! Don’t get familiar! I’m tellin’ ye to hurry up and _get out!_ ”

Obi-Wan blinked, backing up. Then he calmly shrugged and left as asked, letting the door swish shut behind.

He stood there in the quiet passageway, waiting for the thumping in his chest to grow still.

The way Bane was looking at him, wide-eyed and coiled without warning… breathing so fast that it seemed to come from a place other than anger.

Was it… fear?

Why…?

Obi-Wan brushed his lips. They tingled still, swollen from friction with flesh. His mouth still tasted musky and sweet, the heady remains of a man losing control. His heart was beating hard, but his body ached like it needed to stay quiet. Unnoticed.

Or at least the feeling inside did.

It wasn’t a big feeling. Yet, he was a little afraid of it, recognizing it for the hazard it was.

…He cared, in a way distinct from just base compassion.

Emotions were complicated for a Jedi—he had to know when to disallow them from action… or channel them into better use. But still, they came—he held true admiration and love for Satine Kryze, who’d near taken his heart once, and honestly stirred it still. He held familial love for his master, and then Anakin, and then Ahsoka too—his closest and most trusted all.

He held burning rage for those that harmed them.

And all of these things, he’d controlled. Managed. Made them quieter, softer, in loyalty to his mission and his code.

But he’d never quite felt _this_ way, this way that got so incredibly surprised and disappointed when it was shoved aside. It was so perplexing it was hard to dull, even as it defied a name. The only thing he _could_ drag out of the morass in his chest and identify was that for some reason… he _did_ care. It was neither love nor passion like he’d ever known it, and it certainly wasn’t charity or pity. He just… he _cared_ , in a way that was sharp, curious, and entirely too stupid.

And it wasn’t wrong, to care to a certain _degree!_ Not against his code.

But it mattered… a great deal… that this man who insisted on saving his life over and over was suffering and angry, that they’d grown to speak of deeper things. It mattered that Bane might actually have the capacity for a gentler contentment and connection, but growled his darkness at the world, like whatever dim light that still burned in his soul should be forgotten. It mattered that the man had seemed so pleasantly surprised when they hadn’t turned on each other back on Felucia, that he’d let himself _trust_ , if only a little.

It mattered how they were broken in such a precise way that some part of them still fit.

It mattered that Bane, he felt…

Obi-Wan shivered.

…Felt like a deep relief to a long-inflicted suffering of his own.

Bane genuinely could be some of the best things Obi-Wan valued in himself—quick-witted, learned, effective, reliable—and he just used it all in the worst possible ways. All of his anger, resentment, darkness... if the universe had unspooled to a kinder end and created a better version of him, they might have…

Well, perhaps they might be laying back together now at least, enjoying their mutual warmth.

He bowed his head, no longer wanting to sleep for a while. It wasn’t a good idea for a Jedi to operate on shadows of hunches, illusions of what they’d rather have. Bane was exactly who he was, and he was on the brink. They walked this road together… only for now.

_He'll probably let me down, when the time comes._

Entering the cockpit, Obi-Wan sat, watching the hypnotic glow of hyperspace.

_…I’m acting like a fool._

Well, that much had been obvious for a while.

It was a shame it felt so good.

* * *

Time passed slowly while waiting for a battle. Three hours crawled past, and Obi-Wan remained unsettled and alone—save for Todo, who hovered about the ship still, quietly muttering about grimy conduits and necessary fluid flushes. In truth… the little droid was somewhat… eccentric. Passive-aggressive. This version of his personality seemed to have been accruing data for a while without wipes.

“I mean,” Todo snarked, a microvalve in each hand, “clearly a full day before takeoff is too much to ask. After all, what do _I_ know? Technical work is only the entire reason for my existence.”

Strange; usually droid owners only let this happen when they grew a bit fond, and Bane didn’t seem the sort. But Obi-Wan lent a hand with the work here and there without returning complaints, blasting dust out of the starboard air ducts, recalibrating the guns, and hot-swapping a damaged power cell for a pristine one.

It was better to keep his hands occupied.

Much was on his mind.

He finally did check in on his companion, though he established mentally several times that distance was better. A dim lamp had been left on in the bunk room, though Bane was asleep, utterly unresponsive. And though his eyes fluttered with dreams, they did not seem the kind to jolt him to waking.

Again, Obi-Wan cared.

Again, he frowned at that weight.

Bane’s meticulous facade was cracking in more ways, he could see. Though the man had removed his gun belt, gloves, and boots, the rest stayed on, like he’d given up and didn’t mind being an apathetic, dirty rumple anymore. His shirt had a rip; his trousers were grease-stained. There was also tight cloth wrapped around his knobby hands, something the gloves usually hid—probably a sensible bracing to keep those fine bones aligned under pressure. But old blood stained the knuckles, and he hadn’t bothered changing them out.

When he’d been hitting things hard enough to bleed, Obi-Wan didn’t know.

Bane stirred, whispering something in his sleep. His long toes curled as his legs tucked closer to his body for warmth.

A Jedi turned away, trying not to notice. He considered his own bag, dropped thoughtlessly in this room too.

They’d just wound up sharing quarters by default all over again.

…It probably _was_ best to keep an eye on his stubborn and concerning companion. That was fair, right?

Yes. It was fair.

Sighing, he faced his own bunk, futzing with his own blankets. He’d been putting it off, but he _had_ to sleep. _Clack_ went the first boot, getting set softly on the ground. _Clack_ went the second.

 _Click_ went the blaster, hummed and pointing at the back of his head.

Obi-Wan raised his hands, turning.

“Oh.” Bane’s bleary gaze squinted and the gun lowered. It was impressive, how he could go from unconscious to armed in a mere microsecond. “It’s you.”

“You can go back to sleep. I just needed some rest myself. My apologies; I was trying to be quiet.”

“Ye _were_ quiet.” Bane growled, rubbing his face. “I just… tch. Whatever. I’m awake now.”

“…Dreams?”

The man turned and sneered. “…Leave me be.” Then he left, putting the gun back on the end table and padding barefoot out the door.

Obi-Wan sighed, yearning to say… honestly… he knew not what. So he simply finished smoothing his bedding over the stained mattress, hiding its lumps and discomforts. Another yawn cracked his jaw. Realizing he didn’t care enough to remove his clothes either, he just curled up in the blankets. There, he faced the wall, discontent, ill-at-ease.

His head throbbed.

Dreams came for him too in time. They were brief, amorphous shards, flashes of unsettled ooze. He was walking in a dark cave, the ancient catacombs of Geonosis—the air reeked of sour rot and decaying chitin. But Anakin was by his side, lightsaber drawn. “Don’t look so worried,” the man chided, tossing his hair, squaring his shoulders. “You’ve got me here; the bugs don’t stand a chance.”

He was walking in a dark cave, the soft soles of his Padawan boots silent in the dust. The young Duchess Satine was at his side, smiling excitedly, warm hand in his—and something was blossoming under his skin, something new and silly and breathtaking. She’d missed the stars while deep in this hideout, so she promised that if her ever-so-brave Jedi companion might escort her, they might glimpse a few, share stories of Mandalore. “Don’t look so worried!” she whispered, laughing. “I’m here; your master can’t be angry if I tell him I made you do it.”

He was walking in a dark cave, a Duros slinking beside him, form silent and coiled—those crimson eyes reading signs he couldn’t register. Wind whistled strangely through the tunnels… like monsters breathing. 

And another noise came.

_Clack. Clack._

…Boots?

Down the tunnel, Count Dooku walked, the darkness coating him like it was part of his black cloak. “Obi-Wan,” he greeted, the Force rolling over them like a coming storm. “Don’t look so worried; this shouldn’t take long.” That aura blew through bones, throwing Obi-Wan back. And as he landed, the floor crackled and shattered, caving in to the caverns beneath. He threw out his hand, grabbing the ledge. His wrists wrenched. His stomach hit the edge, knocking out his wind. But he hung, desperately trying to pull himself up.

Dooku advanced, the caves drowning in the unholy red of his lightsaber.

All that stood between them was Bane.

“Help me!” Obi-Wan called. “You can’t fight him alone!”

Bane turned.

Just stared down into the abyss, gaze so, so empty.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” Dooku laughed. “You do believe the best of people. _So naive._ ”

Suddenly, the world creaked, shifting. Someone had taken a seat on his mattress’s edge—Obi-Wan jerked up.

Bane was facing away, hat low. Though his clothes were still dirty, his skin had a dewy quality, as if recently washed. Those old cloth knuckle wraps were gone too, finally tossed into the trash somewhere. Though the scabs that had been underneath… they seemed fresh.

Mouth dry, Obi-Wan calculated how to act.

But Bane didn’t touch. Didn’t say a word. Just… sat.

Slowly, Obi-Wan curled into himself, drawing his own feet over the bed’s side. “You could just wake me up like a normal person. Perhaps by prodding me at range with a stick?”

The man said nothing. His hands were drawn together between his knees. His shoulders were rigid.

“Well, now you’re just being unsettling. It’s not the best option in this situation.”

“…Look, are ye open fer business again right now or not?” That electric, sullen distance opened wide. He smelled like smoke and… wait. Was that…? _Liquor?_ It was faint, but where had he…?!

Great, so his mood hadn’t subsided; it had just spiraled around itself for hours and gotten _worse_. Hardly a charming way to awaken someone and ask for more favors.

“Perhaps you want to try that sentence again.” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched.

Fury creaked that head over. “I asked, Master Jedi, if ye felt like archin’ that ugly arse of yers up in the sky a little more fer me to dump seed into, or—”

Right, so he was _trying_ to pick a fight. Obi-Wan reached over into personal space and stole his hat.

Bane froze. That chilly rage calculated the sheer, unmitigated gall.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan encouraged, putting it on his own head. “Do something about it.”

And everything lightning-charged, exhaustion-worn, and grief-touched beneath Bane’s surface vented at once.

A right hook _swung_.

Obi-Wan parried, springing to his feet, blocking low and preventing a sharp knee from catching his gut. Bane just lunged. “ _Ye kriffin_ _’—!_ ” And thin or not, he was _strong_ , knew how to use his weight. The two of them buckled together, rolling.

“Is this helping?” Obi-Wan’s head almost knocked into the other bunk’s frame. This room was not big enough for this…!

“ _Kark off, arsehole!_ ” Bane scrabbled to get ahold of his shirt, to try and pin him and aim at his face. He wound up punching the metal floor as Obi-Wan twisted and jammed his own knee between them. The blow sounded like it _stung_.

But Bane didn’t seem like he cared. Despite Obi-Wan getting strong leverage between them with his leg, throwing the man was like throwing a Loth-cat that had sunk in all its claws. Bane just ripped out half his shirt’s buttons as he clung tight, and when Obi-Wan managed to roll him in turn, he made a near unbelievable contortion and squirmed free, kicking his opponent right in the ribs.

“Ooof!” Obi-Wan grunted, but he kipped up to his feet just as Bane did, not really hurt. That barefoot strike had only loosely been aimed.

They glared at each other. Adrenaline made them pant, but Obi-Wan knew that if it really came down to it, the both of them had _plenty_ of stamina to continue.

Those teeth bore defensively, accusingly… but Bane didn’t move to strike a second time. His stance was starting to ease, like he’d realized what he’d done had been… foolish.

Obi-Wan readied himself anyway, just in case. “Now are we going to talk about what’s bothering you, or…?”

“Talk?! What’s there to talk about?!” Those arms spread wide, then collapsed just as quickly. One hand shook, as if to loosen that aching fist that had plowed into the floor. “Ye _idiot_ Jedi… give me my hat back before I start gettin’ _serious!_ ”

Obi-Wan just shrugged, plucked it off, and tossed it at him. “Fine. But I think we’re past this childishness of spitting at each other like we’re really enemies. Don’t you?”

Lips thinned dangerously as the brim was caught. Bane’s stance lowered, a rumble in that chest. “ _You don_ _’t know shite_.”

Obi-Wan did, though. It was the bread left by a bedside that made things clear. “I’m sorry you’ve lost everything.” A sigh heaved out of his lungs. “I’m sorry an _idiot Jedi_ is the best friend you’ve got, and all you’ve got left at all. For what it’s worth, I even understand why you’re full of hate for your situation. It’s fairly miserable.”

“ _…Best friend I’ve got?!_ ”

He stepped forward. “Fine. _Friend_ is a bit strong. But I can tell that you don’t have _quite_ so firm of a grip on your hatred of me as you used to. And actually… I understand why you’d despise losing that too.”

Bane was _vibrating_. His stare evaluated, calculating, as if burrowing into his opponent’s body for little readings and signs. “I am _this close_ to breakin’ yer head against the wall!”

Honesty hummed its quiet song in Obi-Wan’s chest. “No, you’re not.” And something shifted inside him. Something powerful—it resonated with the Force, with his visions, and yes, with with sheer, dogged persistence in needing to do right. The universe channeled inside him and his words, nothing soft about them anymore. “It’s fine, not to hate me. I don’t hate you either! Because we are walking through this darkness together right now. We _should_ be relying on one another! That’s how this works! Not brawling in some bunk room!”

Something startled in Bane: a tilt of his chin… a look of quiet, wary regard. He still managed to sneer, but it lost its edge.

“Partners look out for each other,” Obi-Wan pressed. _As opposed to trying to sabotage it all the second things feel too comfortable for you to stand!_

“I don’t need ye to—”

“You do.” He stepped in again, not really asking anymore. “Let me see your hand.”

Bane’s face twitched. It was as if it was everything in him not to move away, preserve their distance. But of course, that would be conceding weakness. The hand in question edged behind his back anyhow. “Why don’t ye kark off and—”

“Let me see it.”

“Why?!”

“Because you hit the floor hard enough to crack a bone, you’re _realizing_ that, and you can’t fix it yourself.”

The man froze. Yes. A gunslinger who could only hold one gun… how very laughable.

_Self-destruction is all that lies at the bottom of anger's well._

Obi-Wan didn’t speak that old teaching; Bane probably _would_ risk shattering the other fist on his jaw. He just beckoned, palm out.

The man stared back, stock-still, as if, should he remain motionless for long enough, everyone might forget he was there.

“Stop acting like an infant! I can probably treat it.”

Fangs presented themselves again, but… Bane, on his bed’s edge, he sat. He hunched. He glowered.

He extended the hand, suspicious and stiff.

“Alright.” Obi-Wan sat beside him and gently took up those slender fingers—the true tools of a hunter’s livelihood. Nothing here was obviously snapped; a good sign, though the scabs from previous self-inflicted violence ran ragged. “I’ll need you to tell me if you feel pain where I press. Here? …Here?” Each bony ridge under the surface was squeezed, until a subtle stiffening in the man’s shoulder’s was detected. “There?”

“Tch.” It was so quiet, the wince in his breath almost didn’t exist at all. He’d gone right back to not making eye contact.

Obi-Wan _hrmmm_ ed and exhaled softly through his nose. He was no specialized Force healer; such a gift was quite rare, and in the age of bacta, requested less and less. But little things, he’d learned as a Padawan. A hairline fracture, he could likely manage.

The way that palm tingled, sandwiched between his, it became like sunshine inside skin. The living Force moved through him, through Bane, through all of this ship… he breathed and it filled his lungs. Warmth. Healing. Light.

When it was over, there was still blood, but the torn skin itself was fully closed. The slight swell to the hand was gone.

Bane took it back, flexed it, as if he’d touched a fire and needed to ensure he was alright.

“That do the trick?”

The man opened his mouth, then closed it. He simply turned away, gaze wide and unnerved.

And then, they just sat next to one another, silent, awkward, looking at their feet.

It was sad really, his paranoid expression. It seemed as if he’d long forgotten what it was to have someone truly trying to help—caring, fixing, touching. No wonder he was so suspicious of it all. Perhaps, in addition to all the rest, that was why he was so… aggressive. He could take over. Ensure everything was handled, since no one was trustworthy enough to let near.

And Obi-Wan suddenly realized something with a drop in his stomach, as he tried to articulate words to address that… helpful, wise words…

 _If I try to lecture him on that, he_ _’ll probably just retaliate, and I would deserve it for being a hypocrite._ High General Obi-Wan Kenobi kept the galaxy at arm’s length too, as he took charge. He shouldered command of an army he was never truly an equal member of. He took on the safety of ten thousand Jedi Knights from his council seat, and handled the personal development and wellbeing of Anakin and Ahsoka too—which of course had ensured their friendship was never _balanced_ , never fully leaving the realm of mentor and student, no matter how far they came.

He never let anyone worry about him _back_ , because he had to lead and teach and save. He never let them see how weak he’d become.

Then, when he’d broken, when he’d fallen in this spiral and started to drown, he _still_ couldn’t shatter the image of Master Obi-Wan, trustworthy, strong, and wise… how much would that cause people to lose faith? How much could it destroy?

So he’d entrusted more of his secret self, his needs, to a dangerous stranger than he had his closest friends and lifelong comrades.

Perhaps just as Bane had begun to do too once, over a hand of sabacc.

“…I got carried away,” the man suddenly muttered. It was almost an apology.

“…Yes. Though I provoked back.”

Another snarl came, sullen. “Ye were… right, back on Nal Hutta. I’ve been lettin’ personal t’ings get in the way of our arrangement.”

Ah, so the walls were shifting. If he couldn’t push away with aggression, he would go back to settling things into comfortable _business_ and _personal_ boxes.

_That's not what this is anymore, though. And you know it, or we wouldn’t be here sitting on your bed talking about it._

The open hand that tried to help and heal and protect: that was what Obi-Wan Kenobi truly was, what he wanted to be again, as he looked on himself with fresh eyes.

_I can be a better man. A better Jedi. I can._

Was it arrogant, to wonder if he could lead them _both_ out of this, into a brighter place? No matter how far gone they were?

He just… didn’t want to find his way out alone, as he often felt.

“You want to work this out in a better way?” he managed.

Bane blinked, spine drawing up, alert.

And Obi-Wan offered his open hand again, in a language this lonely, mutually drowning hunter might be able to understand. He pulled himself over to straddle Bane on that bed, not waiting for permission. That heavyset brow cocked, surprised, wary. But that cautioning sneer faded as Obi-Wan leaned in, treating him as the Duros he was—scraping teeth to his neck, showing: _look, I could hurt you, but I will not_.

_You can trust me._

He wanted this man to have a chance, just as he did. Any chance at all.

He could feel that pulse pick up under his lips, rapid, startled wingbeats. Bane stilled utterly. He only moved once Obi-Wan set fingers to work, reaching under his shirt, hiking it up to trace trails along those ribs—a soft exhale came, a seemingly involuntary shudder closer.

Obi-Wan pressed their cheeks together, scenting him, matching body language. Those narrow hips ground beneath, once in surprise, given that breathing—and then once more, obviously for the feeling of it.

Only then did Obi-Wan attempt to lock eyes, because he knew that to look was a vulnerable act.

But that answering gaze was heart-stoppingly serious, as if Bane finally recognized this, understood the nature of this offer.

_You can trust._

Obi-Wan settled their foreheads together, kissing him. Those lips stiffened, but they parted, welcoming him—those hands seizing him close.

He really _did_ taste like smoke and life and the very best of the worst decisions.

They laid back. Bane’s hips ground underneath, arousal growing, fingers appreciating all the hard lines and taut muscle his partner had to offer. Obi-Wan’s torn shirt was simple enough to throw aside. Ruined. And Bane, he didn’t look even a little sorry about that, slowly licking a nipple and rubbing the other, getting a gasp in return. When the rest of their clothes came off, he didn’t object to staying straddled, being ridden, neither of them able to look away.

 _I_ _’m glad ye made it_ , that starving gaze seemed to confess, those hands almost frantic to keep his partner close. Their breath synchronized.

 _I_ _’m glad you made it, too_ , Obi-Wan realized, kissing him again, hearing him groan.

Obi-Wan took him in, over and over, drinking in that surrender of control: the point where Bane’s hips began to shake in their quick, hard rhythm, the way he embraced with desperate aching fervor, the shining in his crimson gaze, desperate for release. He was quivering, hard as a slick spear, scenting and thrusting frantically. And he came first, which was incredibly inconsiderate, just like the rest of him. For the barest of moments, as he thrust and groaned and rode away on the rush, he arched in ecstasy and clung tight.

His throat bared.

For just a moment.

And then he swore softly, rolling Obi-Wan onto his back. Feverishly, after he withdrew, he began to take his partner in his mouth like his reputation was on the line. Obi-Wan was so surprised he almost shot off his own orgasm then and there. He was already thoroughly worked and desperately hard, legs running sticky.

Bane’s lips bottomed out to his pelvis, erection meeting throat, that tongue caressing the top of his sack in a cheeky way.

 _Oh_ … _!_

Obi-Wan did lose it, crying out, feeling inconsiderate himself for giving no warning. But the fire erupted, and there was nothing he could do except gasp at the ceiling.

It was over. Warm, tingling sweat clouded Obi-Wan’s sense of touch. He didn’t move, just let himself be naked and glad, melting into the bed on a cellular level as Bane collapsed next to him—near the wall, turning away.

It was just far enough to deny gentle intimacy… but the man didn’t flee, not this time.

They lay there for a long minute, existing, breathing. Bane’s muscles were finally, utterly slack. That dry, woody smell he had, the one underneath the gun oil and smoke… it was oddly comforting then. Like its presence meant the masks and inhibitions were fine to drop. They weren’t at war, and the rest of the galaxy could wait outside a while.

Obi-Wan wondered when he became capable of thinking such a dangerous creature was _not the enemy_. Or at least, thinking Bane didn’t _have_ to be. Perhaps it was when he’d come to understand the collar. He reached out instinctively, fingertips hovering near that old sky-blue scar on that firm neck.

The man seemed to sense his movement, his closeness. His eyes were red slits again as he turned. “…It was fer a kriffin’ half-year, alright? Ages ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Hm?”

Bane glared, looking exhausted still. “When I was a slave.” Surprise fluttered in Obi-Wan’s chest. “At least, one with a formal chain. I was less experienced then… workin' with a team. Job went wrong. Got left behind. The captain of the ship we infiltrated was a slaver, yeah, and she hated droids—decided havin’ a Duros around for technical shite was a good idea. But I eventually got the right tools to crack the collar off and go on my way.”

Obi-Wan digested just… being _told_ something that personal, without asking. He didn’t know what to say. And that aside, removing such an extremely tamper-resistant bond was an _impressive_ feat—perhaps this slaver had been correct in… well, the usual stereotype, of a Duros’s technical ability. “Did you kill the captain?”

Bane smirked again, like that went without saying.

Sometimes, it was hard to muster enough disapproval to frown. _Got left behind._ Perhaps this was when the man stopped caring so much about… teammates. Obi-Wan tucked his head down. “I detest slavers.”

“Yeah.” Bane burrowed into his coat underneath him, fetching and lighting another cigarette.

“…Really? You’re going to smoke here? I just got the smell managed.”

“The ventilation and the purifiers will take it; toughen up.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and resigned himself to the secondhand pollutants. At least _whatever_ it was Bane favored didn’t sting his eyes and made his lungs feel like rot. “I can’t believe you kept the collar _and_ decided to use it on me, after that.”

Those brows raised roguishly. “Well, if I’d known a treacherous prick like yerself would stay in line for _this_ instead, maybe I’d have—”

“I am _not_ ‘staying in line’ for physical favors!” Obi-Wan received the most self-assured look he’d ever had leveled at him in his life. “Stop that.” Bane did not.

So he just sighed, knowing the man was still resetting their boundaries a little, with that teasing backhand. But he wanted to keep this open a while longer. After all, he had something else he wanted to ask.

He hadn’t truly talked about Zygerria with anyone. Oh yes, he’d reported on it, laid it out in debriefings. But so few knew the soul of what slavery was: the helplessness, the crushing sense of being an object for the breaking—

—Anakin would have understood, of course. But there’d been precious little time between that ordeal and the Hardeen gambit for them to speak, hadn’t there? They’d been so distant since.

The right time had never come.

Obi-Wan’s heart wavered, wondering if his dear friend really would eventually forgive him. If they would ever converse again as they had before. So he asked what he wanted to know to this man by his side now—because this was a different sort of relationship entirely, and he did not think it about to be broken. “How long did it take, before you stopped flinching at things that reminded you of it all?”

Bane’s face scrunched, as if he was surprised at so exacting and intimate an inquiry. He didn’t reject it outright though: just shook his head. “Tch. I don’t t’ink about it.”

“You… just don’t _think_ about it.”

“Yeah, and if anyone tries tellin’ me what to do again without me agreein’ to a contract, I invite ‘em to reconsider.” The man pointed at his blasters on the table. “It’s easy.”

“…It really doesn’t seem that way.”

“ _It_ _’s easy_.” Bane’s eyes narrowed, like he was daring anyone to argue a second time.

Obi-Wan decided to let it pass. How nice it must be, to have such clarity so as not to create nightmares and crises, not to re-examine it all from multiple angles every night.

It was likely a lie, but that was fine, because Obi-Wan understood.

“So how did a Jedi get collared by Zygerrians?” Bane snipped. “Heard they were gettin’… uppity, but I stayed outta that one.”

Hm. Their stories perhaps had another similarity. “Went in with a team and the job went bad too, I guess you could say.”

Bane nodded. “Did ye get sent to the… ehhh…”

“Processing centers? Oh yes. The queen seemed to think I was her personal challenge. Meanwhile, she also decided that trying to bed my former Padawan was her _other_ one. I did not get the better end of that mission.”

A wheezy cackle rose, and Bane actually coughed on his own smoke before the laughter won out. He gave up on the cig and put out the butt on the wall. “Wait, ye mean Skywalker?”

“Yes.”

“So he got ‘round to bangin’ the Zygerrian queen, and meanwhile, yer just…”

“Eating worms in a hole waiting for him to turn the tables. Though, I don’t think he actually… well, you know. Let her _that_ close.” Obi-Wan felt a strange lift in his chest, his heart beating faster with adrenaline at this almost friendly banter. “He denied it most heartily.”

“There is _no way_ he didn’t do it. Because apparently, that’s how all yer missions go, with ye sleepin’ with yer targets. Jedi Council really is trying some new _peacekeepin_ ’ tactics.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t keep the bark of amusement inside. “But can you argue with our success rate?”

Snickering, head shaking, Bane did not. “I can’t ever tell if yer really good or really _bad_ at yer job. And that goes double for Skywalker. So help that Togruta whelp he’s trainin’, if she turns out like you two.”

Honestly, Obi-Wan had to chuckle again—many, many people had spoken or implied the exact same opinions in the past. “…So. Would you like to get some sleep?”

_Please get sleep._

“…Sure. After ye get back in yer own bunk, anyhow.” The man rolled up into a sit, though not with any particular haste. And just for a moment, over his shoulder, he looked at his partner, sprawled nude, still flushed and feeling successful. Bane’s precise thoughts on this were anyone’s guess. But his intelligent gaze lingered, the wheels of his brain clearly turning.

The way he remained studiously neutral… Obi-Wan suspected he was wrestling with closing back up, retreating to safety.

But he liked being touched this way. Bane craved this warmth as much as he mistrusted it; Obi-Wan was certain.

So did he.

And finally, the man brought his words to bear. The culmination of his long, enigmatic, contemplative journey was thus:

“Can’t believe ye humans don’t retract yer dicks when yer not usin’ them. They really just flop around out there all the time, don’t they?”

Obi-Wan bolted upright, choking on an indignant croak. “Are you _serious_ _…?_ ” He swung his legs over the bunk’s side too, looking down, and… well, apparently, the man was right. Duros just… huh. So that’s how he got into those tight pants without issue every morning.

And then he realized they were shoulder to shoulder now, warm, just gazing between each other’s legs. He had no idea how to recover. Bane’s eyes, they laughed at him; but stricken with mirth, free of savage intent, the look was almost pleasant. His scarred, weathered face managed a noble quality.

“…Tch. Yer hesitatin’ again, Obi-Wan. Hesitatin’ arseholes get the refresher _second_.”

They brushed sides as the man stood, smirking, allowing that unguarded touch. And as he vanished out the door, stark naked, as Obi-Wan tried to control his embarrassed, flabbergasted flush… he felt the ground shift between them again. Something… different. New.

He wondered if that sensation was Bane taking his outstretched hand, like he’d wanted.

Or if the sensation was just the feeling of falling into a different trap.


	13. The Spice-Train Robbery

_Shhh. Shhh_.

Delicately, Bane’s clever fingers worked. Thread whispered through his coat sleeve, _shhh_ , _shhh_ , a worn seam brought to mend. His hands no longer shuddered. His gaze was sharp as his fine bone needle.

Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot’s seat, considering hyperspace… or perhaps more those hands by his side. Something inside kept coming back to his companion, an internal course-correction that was starting to make him dizzy from its sudden spins.

 _Unwise_.

Obi-Wan peeled his stare to the console again, uncertain, tongue dry. One thumb worried a button hole in his shirt with no button to match, ripped away during that tussle back in the bunks. Dressed and washed, he’d spot-scrubbed this sad clothing before putting it back on, letting it hang pitiful from his shoulders. What a ridiculous rogue he looked now: half-baring his chest, all patchy stubble and uneven garb.

For playing pirate, he supposed, it was suitable.

He’d had ten hours of sleep. He could scarcely believe that. Dreamless. Still. Peaceful.

But again, his eyes sunk like they were caught in a gravity well, tracing his companion’s agile fingers as they worked.

A flush bloomed up his neck. How those hands’ callouses had felt, caressing his face…

The two of them, that morning, they hadn’t… well, hadn’t _done_ anything… but as they’d yawned themselves awake like their rhythms had begun playing the same song, Bane had just ambled over, pinned him to the wall, and laid down a kiss possessive and slow. It had tasted like hello… like victory in a game for which Obi-Wan was still learning the rules.

How those hands ran silky and warm up his sensitive neck.

How his heart had thundered into his throat.

And then it was over. The man had suddenly departed to his own business with nothing more than a pleased smirk, as if he’d merely wanted to test if this was _his_ now, whenever he wanted it.

It absolutely was not!

But Obi-Wan’s internal gravity swayed, treacherous anyway, lost in the thought.

His companion, for his part now, just finished mending his coat, continuing to keep watch over his words. He was comfortable in these silences, to be sure. Eventually, he picked up his datapad, let his rocket-boots desecrate the dash. Some reading-silence seemed scheduled.

“Say…” Obi-Wan decided, knowing that if he let himself spin, he would just silently orbit around this man the rest of the trip, a perplexed moon.

“No.”

“…You’re not even going to listen?”

“Not when yer usin’ yer small-talk voice.”

“I’m not…! I don’t have a _voice!_ ”

“…Hmph.”

“I was just curious if you’d like to play some sabacc.”

“Ah.” A considering noise bubbled. “Perhaps. In a little while, if yer that eager to lose yer dignity again.”

The nerve. “It’s merely… I’m eager to figure out how you’re such a successful _cheat_.”

Bane’s datapad clicked abruptly to his armrest (his reading apparently involved high-grade lock schematics. Unsurprising.)

“Oh, don’t give me that face. I almost appreciate how seamlessly you manage it. My guess has been that your deck is marked, but it would be interesting to know for sure.”

“There are a lot of people I’d _shoot_ fer—”

“Now, now. I’m not impugning your… honor. You’re good enough to trick a Jedi’s senses, so I want to know how it’s done.”

Bane was still glaring, but the corner of his lips twitched. The mock outrage seemed to slowly get put to bed, just like his other aggressions last night in that rumpled bunk. A good buttering of the ego: even the most famous of bounty hunters were susceptible, like anyone else.

But the sly, hungry look writing itself anew… it almost made one wonder what price might be demanded for the goading. “Ye want to see if ye can figure it out, then? _If_ I’m cheatin’, that is, which I certainly wouldn’t need to do to beat _your_ sort.”

Obi-Wan drummed his fingers together. “That’s what I’m proposing, yes.”

“And yer brave enough to put another bet on it?”

“…Certainly.”

That nimble grip withdrew the deck from its pocket, cutting and shuffling in elegant arcs. Bane’s lips were flat, unreadable, as he did his little bout of showmanship. “Fine then. Three rounds, victory goin’ to whoever has the most credits. And if that’s me… hrm…” That gaze turned nigh malicious. “Oh. Yes. Ye’ll let me cuff ye down and do whatever I want with ye.”

Really? _Really?_ Of all the shameless…!

Obi-Wan coiled into himself.

_…Really?!_

He should have seen this coming. Offer one meter of willingness and the bastard wanted a parsec. “Well. I must say… I’m at a loss to determine what would be sufficient recompense for taking you up on such a bet.”

“Well… if ye catch me cheatin’… or if ye win, by some miracle…” Bane tilted his head. “Say, ye wouldn’t be interested in knowin’ the weak links in yer Senate security, would ye? I bet ye never patched ‘em _._ ”

 _Oh_. Hm. Hm! Regretfully, this did make certain interests flutter. “Are we talking… specific slicing methods? Names of insiders used?”

Another toothy smirk. “Everythin’.”

Obi-Wan cringed inwardly.

Everything.

The Galactic _Senate_.

That information was priceless, despite the defeat conditions being so… so…

 _Humiliating is the word_. _Should have thrown it off the table straightaway instead of letting him come up with something to match it._

But all he could do, as he contemplated, was cross his arms and frown: a token disapproval. Bane snickered. “Come on. Either way, do ye really lose?”

“…It’s just all rather uncivilized.”

“High risk, high reward—ye know how this works.”

“…Cuffs though? _Really?_ ”

“Yeah.” This was marred by neither explanation nor the smallest hint of shame.

“Is it a bounty hunter fixation, or personal trust issues?”

A dark chuckle. “Come on. Ye get two win conditions to my one!”

…Did that tone ever put anyone at ease?

But the prospect of knowledge that was quite Obi-Wan’s duty to obtain… versus a… hrm, he could think of it as an awkward dalliance prospect, really…

And still, his stomach churned with unease, as if something had already been lost. “Very well.”

There was a funny clicking noise in Bane’s chest as he uncoiled and smirked, tossing his duster over the back of the pilot’s chair. He took his delinquent boots off the console too, even removing his gauntlets, baring those fine-boned forearms. Wonderful. Well, that removed the possibility of spare cards at his wrists or in his ample pockets. He then snagged a floating tool tray and slid it out of its compartment. It hovered between them to hold the deck.

The hands were dealt. The credits were set.

_And now we’ll see if you’re as good as you think._

As Obi-Wan calculated the worth of his own draw—a middling start; it would need time to develop—he ran fingertips softly around the card edges. This was a relatively new sabacc set, the one he’d purchased at that fuel station. There were no small bends. No odd wears at the corners. Squinting, he turned his hand face down, peering at the backs for marks or unusual textures.

They were all the same. Quite unblemished. Wholly unremarkable.

He had been so certain… or, perhaps only select cards had been altered…

“Ye lookin’ fer somethin’?” Bane drawled.

Obi-Wan pondered. “I’m considering the role your heat sensing plays in this. You _can_ sometimes tell if people are lying. Or perhaps bluffing.”

The man shrugged. “Ye can’t really say me usin’ my eyeballs is a _cheat_.” A dismissive hand waved and he took his draw.

Frustrated, Obi-Wan persisted. He drew a value of twenty and upped the ante. Not bad at all.

Bane laid out a twenty-two, taking the pot—didn’t even look surprised to win.

The second hand was dealt. Obi-Wan deliberately slowed his breath, centered himself precisely, and tried to control his vital signs. He could feel his heart. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips, holding his cards.

_Calm. No excitement. No revealing your thoughts._

Bane, however, remained looking utterly neutral on these matters. They each took a few turns… before he shook his head and abruptly folded. Obi-Wan didn’t understand, but was glad, for he himself was struggling with a score of seventeen. Still, the ante had only been raised to a minor degree. His winnings weren’t enough to break back even.

An embarrassed tingle rose in his gut. If Bane had been in danger of bombing out but was forewarned somehow… this deliberate forfeit had kept him in the lead, if only barely. He’d lost nothing.

 _Cuffs? Really?_ _I agreed to this?_

Bane hunched in close, suddenly brushing a knuckle across the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. “Ye want to inspect anythin’ else?” His rasping chuckle dragged low. “Check all the suspicious nooks I’ve got?”

Obi-Wan shivered as that low tenor crept through his blood. He ignored the touch. Tried to.

Then, he drew an Ace of Sabers.

Well!

A chance. Twenty-two. Extremely solid.

Relief. That was the uncertain feeling cantering in his gut now, right?

Bane reached to take his own draw.

“Wait.”

Those limber fingers paused. That tongue clicked.

“ _I_ _’ll_ give you your card. No sleight of hand or misdirection.” Obi-Wan reached with the Force, lifted it from the deck, and sent it floating the man’s way.

“Wasn’t doin’ some sneaky pull.” His brow arched in mockery.

 _And yet_ _… something’s still not adding up here._

“Ye know… I t’ink I’ll call.” Bane gave a pleased, closed-lipped smile, leaning forward. “Ye all in?”

Obi-Wan hunched in too, tense. “I suppose I am.”

“Last chance to check those nooks.”

“I’m good for that, thank you.” And as far as Obi-Wan’s keen observations had been able to calculate, this round had contained no funny business, other than the flirtatious pass. No tells. No hidden cards. No marks. Perhaps it could be a comfort that this hand seemed relatively honest, win or lose.

“Ye know, ye’ve lost,” Bane said, tone bored.

 _What?!_ “I will have you know I have a _very_ strong play.”

“Not good enough. Come on! I’m givin’ ye _such_ a sportin’ chance! Ye’ve got one shot to win this Obi-Wan, and layin’ down yer cards? Isn’t it.” He snickered. “Go on. Guess how I’m cheatin’. Unless… maybe yer _tryin_ _’_ to lose, which would be a fine t’ing I don’t mind.” A knee brushed his own, pointed and warm.

Wait, he was outright _agreeing_ he was cheating now?!

Obi-Wan scanned the backs of his cards again.

Nothing! Like new!

“Hold on. You’re a card counter! Is that it?”

That sneer widened nastily. “Of course I am! But… unfortunately…” He chuckled with an unsettling rasp. “That isn’t cheatin’. Just math. Bad last guess! I expected better of ye.”

There was nothing to do but sigh, putting down the twenty-two.

Bane laid out a twenty-three, Pure Sabacc.

It felt a lesson.

It rankled badly.

 _…A sporting chance…? I’m missing something obvious!_ Obi-Wan spread out his cards again, backs and fronts, glaring as if they would give up the secrets of the universe. _How did he know?_ A whole lot of nothing was all that stared back.

“Yer makin’ a real sore loser face.” Those teeth gleamed hungry.

“…I am not.”

“Scrunchin’ up.”

“…Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

“Mm.” Bane gathered up the cards and all his secrets, slouching back. “Ye’ll see I’ll rub all _sorts_ of t’ings into ye.”

Another flush erupted that Obi-Wan couldn’t catch in time to breathe calmly into submission. He put his face in one hand, embarrassed, near jumpy for goodness’ sake… This… this would not do... 

“Tch… please… hold yer blurrgs.” The man tipped his hat down over his eyes. “We’re not doin’ anythin’ _now_. I’m goin’ to make ye wait. Goin’ to make ye sit and marinate, wonderin’ what’s comin’.”

Well.

Obi-Wan did sit in the silence that followed. He did marinate.

He was still doing so an hour later, as the console bleeped that their destination had arrived.

Bane dropped them from hyperspace, and Obi-Wan squinted, taking in this place, grateful for something to do instead of sitting and thinking. There was a planet here, a stony giant, maimed by moon-sized craters and blanketed with stormclouds and night. Ringing it was a massive asteroid field. A number of glowing beacons had been set adrift, allowing pilots to navigate the hazards to the fuel station at the belt’s rim. It stood far enough out that rocky debris didn’t seem to trouble it much, though its shields clearly helped.

This seemed a precarious locale, but it was clearly profitable. Dozens of ships seemed to be waiting to fuel here instead of further on the route to Bothawui.

Bane clicked a few toggles and took over manual steering, bringing them carefully around to one of the asteroids. It seemed metal-rich, allowing easy magnetization to the surface. “Scanning fer the target,” he said, activating a function in the console. “No. Don’t see it yet. But Ohnaka said their ships cycle through, and we might spot one anytime between now and two days time.”

“…Seriously? That’s a little loose… so we just lurk here?”

“I don’t need fuel or the attention of the aut’orities, so yes.” Bane’s teeth clicked impatiently. He might have been acting professional about it all, but there was no doubt that wasting two days to net nothing other than a forgiven debt was not his idea of a good time.

“When we do get visuals on them, what are your thoughts?”

“Hm. Fer one, this environment’s better than I’d hoped. The asteroid composition and distribution… it’s goin’ to interfere with station security. And any target’ll need to navigate and clear the belt fully before jumpin’ to hyperspace. So disablin’ the mark should be easy.” He smirked, like he was in full visualization of the chase. One hand patted the console. “There’s a pulse charge loaded. We’ll activate it—dock ‘em as their power cycles. Jam their comms to prevent them from callin’ fer help. Easy. Get in. Get out. Send the cargo to Florrum and be in the wind.”

The sheer criminal nature of this was really starting to sink in. Unease churned Obi-Wan’s stomach again. Somehow, Hondo’s side of the story was feeling less and less reassuring.

“…Yer makin’ a face.” Bane’s cold, analytical gaze turned on him.

“I don’t mind ensuring Hondo gets medicine he paid for, but I can’t shake the feeling he’s left out more than a detail or two.”

“Should have thought of that before ye let him set the job conditions.” _After all, I_ _’m not a contract-breaker,_ that gaze seemed to threaten again.

The scans suddenly chirped an anxious, tittering beep. Bane pulled his attention away, glaring. “Hold on. Pickin’ somethin’ up….” His brow furrowed. “It says they’re here.”

“Already? We just…!”

“Yeah. Might have been that the asteroids were throwin’ us off.” Lips pulled thin. “…Still odd.”

The nagging unease coiled tighter in Obi-Wan’s core.

“I’ve got a lock…” Bane traced them on the computer screen, then pointed to a glimmer slowly rising from the station berths. It was beginning to navigate up and out. Silently, dutifully, he roused the ship and followed.

The _Justicar_ really was a hunter’s craft. Obi-Wan could feel it in its smooth bobs and weaves, a predator slicing through a hazardous sea. Perhaps it would never be so nimble as a top-notch, Rogue-class starfighter, but it was as close as any ship of its type could get. They closed the distance easily, moving three times the transport’s rate. And as they neared, details grew clearer. This truly wasn’t a large ship they pursued; it was squat and cubed and wholly unremarkable, a dingy, unloved white. Frankly, its inglorious purpose was clear: it was a box into which interested parties could shove more boxes, and that was it.

The console bleeped. Ah, that was probably a warning hail, wondering why they were coming so close.

“We’re out of immediate visual range of the station. I’m gettin’ this over with,” Bane sighed, sidling up their vessel and dropping the pulse charge like a boot to a bug. The transport lit up with an external surge, glowing. Then, the engine burn flickered into nothing. The ship started spiraling through the vacuum like a thrown ball.

Obi-Wan had been worried it might careen into an asteroid, but Bane seemed to have calculated that in his maneuver, and the ship’s drift went past obstacles harmlessly… for now.

The man really did make this look gallingly easy.

Well, the hail seemed to have stopped… no doubt things had gone to chaos over there.

“Jamming further comms,” Todo reported, interfacing with the console just behind them. “And configuring frequencies to intercept transmissions from the station.”

“Good,” Bane grunted. “Pose as technical crew. Pass things off as engine problems from a bad motivator. Fixable. No need for them to send help.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers drummed. “How long do we have until they can get things back online and try to tell the station otherwise?”

Bane didn’t answer. He just peered.

“… _Bane_.”

“Fifteen minutes at worst.”

“ _Fifteen_ —why aren’t we moving to dock? That is _nothing_.”

“Ye ever seen a ship like that?”

“No, but…”

“Those ports on the front and back…”

“Yes?” They were fairly crude.

“Old design from CorDuro. Very old. They link a bunch of ships like ‘em together. Make a train. And that links up their power, see. Gives it the energy necessary to get a longer and longer caravan through hyperspace. Saves them money, the customizable freighter size.”

“ _And?_ ”

“Why’s there just one? No one wants just one.” Bane gave it a disgruntled glare. “Was expectin’ a ship about this mass, but the model doesn’t make _sense_.”

“…But it’s a transport.”

“…Yes.”

“One that fits the general description and the signal.”

“ _Yes_.”

“That we now have fourteen minutes to decide if we rob or not, lest Hondo and his friends make our lives much, much harder.”

Bane hissed a sigh, drawing the craft in close. “I know. Todo? Call me _directly_ if ye see anythin’ suspicious out here.”

“Of course, sir,” the droid chirped.

“I understand paranoia’s what’s kept you alive,” Obi-Wan ceded as they magnetically latched to the target’s hull and stabilized its drift. “I’m not saying it feels good to me either.”

“Just keep yer eyes open.” Bane abandoned the console, lifting a small tool bag he seemed to have packed in advance. On the target craft, there was an ingress for maintenance where they’d connected, rested neatly up against their own. “Someone might start firin’ on us the second this opens. You get ‘em out of the way.” He actually tossed his hat to the wayside like it was too strong an identifying feature, tying a cloth around his face instead and bringing down his goggles.

Obi-Wan groaned, considering the logic of a mask.

“Did ye forget—”

“…Yes.”

“Yer freaked about commandeerin’ some cargo, but ye forgot yer face…!”

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it.” Obi-Wan snagged an oily work rag by the door and tied it around his nose and mouth. It smelled sour, but it would be fine, short-term.

“At least they’ll _believe_ yer one of those idiot drunk pirates now.”

“Just get on with it!”

“Tch.” Bane slid open their seal, revealing the narrow entry door to the ancient CorDuro vessel. A slicing spike got jammed into the access. As it started to spin, he cut a section of the hull with a torch, exposing wires, clipping two—a clean job; the spike began to twirl faster, bypassing security.

…This was going to be a tight fit. Obi-Wan winced, sucking his stomach in as almost a reflex.

Then the hatch popped, the spike ejecting and clattering to the floor. Bane jerked clear as a wave of dusty air seeped through them.

But no one fired. Obi-Wan squinted. His neck hairs rose, but… he didn’t sense an immediate threat. In fact, he didn’t see much of anyone at all through the passage.

“Their breach alarm mustn’t be online…” Bane moved inside, guns drawn, and Obi-Wan squeezed after. The rifle on his back tried to snag, but he managed. The door sealed again behind them.

Only emergency red power lights lit their way now, though they didn’t need to go far. This boxy craft was at least eighty percent cargo hold, doggedly efficient to its cause. “What kind of pilot doesn’t realize they’re karkin’ docked and boarded right now?” Bane grumbled, slinking past the endless crates, aiming at shadows.

“Perhaps they’re hiding?”

A stumpy, white-haired Ugnaught suddenly peeked around a box stack, proving Obi-Wan right. He saw them and screeched in fear.

“Woah!” Obi-Wan bounded and snagged him by the sturdy collar before he could scamper off, panting hard, clearly working up to a loud squeal. “Woah. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“ _I_ _’ll_ hurt ye.” Bane jammed his gun in the poor creature’s face. “If ye alert this ship, I _really_ will.”

The Ugnaught settled, trembling.

Well, this felt terrible. This was no threat, just someone probably fearing for his life. “All we need is the medicine you’re transporting here, alright?” Obi-Wan tried to keep his voice smooth and gentle. “It’s going to go to a client that actually did pay for it, from what I understand. This doesn’t need to be a whole… thing.”

“A _t_ _’ing_ ,” Bane repeated incredulously, then sighed. “Fine. Fine, just help get these crates into our hold, and I’ve got no quarrel with ye.” The little Ugnaught nodded frantically. Clearly this was above his pay grade. “Where are yer helpers?”

Snorting, grunting his native language, the small worker pointed again, back from where he’d come.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “I think he said the crew drew lots to come greet us pirates.” It was a bit… hard to catch. “Which he lost. However, he said they’re surrendering; they just don’t want trouble.”

Another couple grunts rose.

“And I think he said their employer recently denied their raises. This will really upset her, so… we’re practically on the same side.”

Bane looked nearly put out by all this working-class solidarity, getting itchier by the second. He kept scanning crates, reading for life signs or traps, but finding nothing. “So ye can manage Ugnaught and Parwen, but ye don’t know Durese, eh?”

“I…! Look, I understand a lot of things a little. I’m really relying on gestures here. And there are _so_ many dialects…”

“ _Whatever._ Let’s move it.”

Indeed, deeper in the hold, the crew waited. Seven workers of various species were kneeling, shaking, hands up. At the fore was an Ithorian in a flight suit; she might have been the pilot. But this collection of staff all seemed unarmed, quiet. Beyond them was the closed door that likely led to the cockpit, but from the continued silence of the engines, nothing in that room was going to do anyone any good.

“…Hmph.” Bane kept his guns at the ready, though his shoulders were easing. After dealing with so many high-value marks, he looked like he was finally remembering some operations were less than elite. None of this bunch looked remotely fight-ready. “Alright, ye lot. Which crates are… _medicine?_ ”

Obi-Wan flashed him a look. “Here I am, trying to be hopeful it actually _is_ medicine.”

“…Hardeen, don’t hope. It’s unprofessional.”

The crew pointed them to the starboard side of matters, to a stack of boxes carefully sealed and bound with cable. Fortunately, it was relatively free of obstruction. But Bane’s brow furrow continued etching deep. “Check it.” He kept a weather eye on the staff as the little Ugnaught meekly beckoned, inviting Obi-Wan to do exactly that—and all one could do was nod and disengage the box locks, the electronic lights flickering green on their panels. The climate sealing disengaged with a hiss. A good sign, that. Proper bacta and such was always transported chilled.

Still, as Obi-Wan drew the lid back, he could only blink, startled.

“There’s nothing in here!”

Bane peered deep into those empty shadows, then turned back to the crew. “Son of a moof-milkin’—”

This was when two things happened:

First, the Ugnaught drew a knife and stabbed it deep into Bane’s calf. He gasped in surprise and pain, falling to a knee, swinging one blaster around to try and blow the worker’s head off.

Second, a sudden, debilitating agony shot up through Obi-Wan’s arms, through the crate cabling. It was a lightning strike to his nervous system. Everything shut down. His legs forgot how to hold him. His vision went dark. When he shuddered back into sensibility, he was on the ground, twitching. Every breath was a new crackle of pain.

What had…? When…?

Time had passed without him. Bane was downed, a motionless heap—both of his guns had spilled from his overwhelmed fingers, clattered around him. His leg bled profusely.

And Obi-Wan might have reached for those pistols instead, might have called his partner’s name to see if he was alive… save for the foot suddenly pressing to this throat.

Five giant enforcers loomed over him now, armed to the teeth and armored in military-grade gear—where they’d been hiding, Obi-Wan didn’t know, but he suspected the cockpit was a decent guess. There used to have been seven of them, apparently. Two were dead on the ground, blaster shots to their heads.

Bane had done damage, but this was no civilian operation.

A safe distance away, the helpful Ugnaught had managed to evade the man’s wrath, and was snickering little squeals. One of his hands was stained green, his knife dripping.

The lead enforcer grunted, his massive shoe pressing into Obi-Wan’s windpipe. He was a Karkarodon, ocean-born flesh striped brown and scarred. His incredible rows of triangular teeth bared. “The Duros has got an incoming transmission,” he spat to one of his mercenary compatriots. “Check it.”

Yes, Bane’s right wrist-com was blinking—a human trained a gun on him, snagged it, and tapped a few buttons there. The only thing that gladdened Obi-Wan’s heart was that this wary handling meant Bane likely wasn’t dead yet.

It was Todo’s voice that drifted over the wavelength, mechanical and nervous. “Sir… there are six ships, just like this one, on approach. Transmissions are still blocked, but I think they intend to provide support. Weapons capabilities unclear.”

The Karkarodon grinned. His clawed hand made a slicing motion, and his compatriot deactivated the transmission. “Give the signal to the rest to blow their craft to hell.”

“The boss is going to be pissed,” a snarl came from another one, a rough-worn, yellow Rodian whose eyes sparkled with malice. “Just two pirates? It’s not even those Weequay!”

 _Bait_ , Obi-Wan’s electrocuted mind provided, as he remained very still—for even a Jedi was easy to kill at point-blank range. _Hondo sent us to deliberately spring a trap. Why?!_

“Mmm, their craft just undocked,” a human grumbled, holding a transmitter to her ear.

Ah. Lovely. Todo was apparently programmed to book it.

“Well tell the team to chase!” The Karkarodon tensed.

“Inadvisable… it’s fled back into the belt. But it showed Ohnaka clan colors alright. Painted all over the hull. Didn’t know monkey-lizards were so sexually impressive.”

“Yeah?” The Karkarodon rumbled with laughter. “So we got some of them after all.”

“Yeah.”

“Degenerates. Let’s make ‘em regret being born.”

His shock prod tapped a punching jolt to Obi-Wan’s temple.

* * *

Cold aching. Pounding head. Churning stomach.

Obi-Wan awoke, recognizing his severe and compounded concussion before he knew his own name. He barely stopped himself from throwing up. His eyes blurred and stung.

A hand slapped his cheek, so unpleasantly gritty it felt like it took off a layer of skin.

Slowly, the room came into focus. His arms were numb, and he was bound in a corner, wrist restraints magnetized to the floor in front of him. Before him was the Karkarodon whose assault had sent him spiraling into nothing in the first place.

“So, this again?” he mumbled, woozy.

“Oh, look at that, Mal.” His tormentor laughed. “Not his first-time interrogation. That’s nice. Maybe I won’t have to explain the rules.” The helpful Ugnaught laughed from where he was leaning near the cell exit. Now he too seemed to be wearing armor and blasters.

Obi-Wan shook his head, homing in on a blue spot hunkered nearby: Bane, slowly coming into focus. The man’s makeshift mask was gone, his goggles too. They’d taken his guns, his coat, and the lightweight armor beneath, also cuffing his wrists with blinking, magnetized restraints. Truly, without all his gear giving him bulk, he seemed a much smaller man.

His left leg was stiff, extended. Gobs of dried blood matted his trousers. Slowly, he turned to Obi-Wan, blank expression giving away none of his pain.

Two other chained figures were in this room too, right next to them. Both… both Weequay. Both quite dead and rotting.

Very likely, Obi-Wan realized, these two corpses had something to do with how Hondo had paid _dearly_ for this cargo once before.

The Karkarodon chuckled and swaggered off, leaving Obi-Wan be. “Alright. What’s your name, ye scrawny lowlife?” He leered menacingly at Bane.

Nothing. The man’s mouth remained a thin line.

The Karkarodon shrugged, drew the shock prod, and jammed it into his side. Bane spasmed, lips peeling back in a wide grimace as he pale-knuckled his thigh.

Yet, not a single sound escaped him.

“I _said_ , what’s your name?”

This was certainly just a warm-up. Later, they’d likely want access codes for the ship’s navicomputer to trace back to Hondo, if they’d captured it. They’d want lots of names and places then, everyone the Ohnaka clan had ever spoken with or cared about.

Bane, however, didn’t seem inclined to help with even part one.

The enforcer jammed him with the prod again, this time at his front. He grunted, eyes going wide, all his muscles locking. An awful, scorched reek rose. It lasted until Obi-Wan had to squirm in his bonds, until he had to tear his gaze away to the wall.

“You’re going to give me answers,” the interrogator snarled at his sagging target. “Whether you want to or not.” He reached inside his vest then, pulled out a little packet of sparkling dust. Obi-Wan swallowed painfully. He didn’t know precisely what it was, but he’d been drugged before during questionings. Though he was trained to resist, it was often not an experience that ended with him keeping everything in his stomach.

Yet as Bane just slouched and breathed and continued his silence, the Karkarodon stuck wide nostrils into the packet’s opening and just snorted half of it himself. The effect was instantaneous. That wedged head drew back, whipping like his kind did in a feeding frenzy. Those hundred gleaming daggers bared in a horrific grin, limpid black eyes beginning to glisten and water.

“C’mon bastard,” the interrogator spoke, licking his smile hungrily. “What’s your name?”

Bane’s crimson-hued disinterest dissected the wall.

“Don’t be like that.” Spice drunk, the man lurched in a circle, all those unpredictable spikes in his face saying life was simpler when one could easily bite problems down to the bone. “Just… let it come to you. What’s the harm, right?”

The door-stationed Ugnaught grumbled. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain the sentiment was, _Just stick him again with the thing_.

“No, pretty sure this one’s got training.” The Karkarodon snorted. “Maybe tougher stuff than those Weequay we worked through before. We’ll have to be more creative.”

Obi-Wan winced, stomach twisting. Bane wasn’t the kind who talked. Who _broke_. Some might find that admirable, but it meant his prospects involved getting wrung through agony after agony, until he was shuddering on the floor, silent and grim.

Until they killed him and all of the words he’d never freely slip.

The thought almost emptied Obi-Wan’s stomach again. But there was nothing he could do yet; for if he revealed his abilities before he’d be able to grab the advantage, they would both be dead.

All the same, seeing Bane like this…

“Ah! Bane,” the Karkarodon suddenly said, gaze lolling. “What sort of name is that, huh? You full of yourself?”

Bane’s fingers twitched. His head slid to the side, eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s. Narrowing.

 _How did_ _…? But no one said…? What?_

Their host’s bloodthirsty leer spilled wider. “Hey Mal. Let’s work on the human a bit. Seems a little more _open_.”

The Ugnaught grunted in approval.

Obi-Wan swallowed a dry, curdled lump. “There’s no need for this lack of civility—we were misinformed of the nature of this ship. We truly have no direct quarrel with you and yours. Surely we can work something out.”

Bane suddenly broke his silence, curling his hands into fists. “Hardeen, ye need to—”

But the Karkarodon drove the shock prod into his throat. He rocked to the ground, convulsing. His face twisted in agony. The torturer’s black, limpid eyes never once left Obi-Wan’s own. Never once blinked. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but grimace, another gut wrench blooming as his companion jerked and suffered.

“Mal, take note,” the lead enforcer said as he stopped and Bane curled in on himself, wheezing, looking a hair’s breadth from unconsciousness. An awful burn marred his neck. “Humans are cooperative. Especially when you’re picking their friends apart limb from limb—they pack-bond fast and hard, see.” He hissed close to Obi-Wan’s face, the odor like breathing in rotten chum on a Corellian wharf. “Also, they taste a lot better than Duros when they burn. Little bastards are _sour_. So. What’s _your_ name, bigshot? Hardeen, he said? Why does that… not quite seem like it fits you…?”

Those beady eyes were like mirrors. Obi-Wan could see a small, helpless prisoner reflected back.

Then Bane wheezed loudly, spitting on the ground, forcing himself to sit again.

Their torturer sneered, as if getting back up was a grave insult. “You still want my attention, _sleemo?_ You still got fight in you?”

It was as if the shock to Bane’s throat had badly swollen his vocal cords, but had done nothing to lessen his bile. He carefully, painstakingly rasped: “Ye really want to know what I know? How about this: yer a pond-scum-ridden, spice-addled, rotten-toothed son of a Mon Cala _fishwhore_.”

One finned hand snapped out in snarling fury to Bane’s head, a claw leaving a ooze-green slice across his scalp, right across the one already there from the _Xanadu Blood_ ’s demise. “Not smart. You got a soft spot? Trying to see him spared?”

That wincing form was very still. Obi-Wan’s heartbeat skipped.

“Oh yesss. Pheromones.” He leaned in closer. “Yesss, I definitely want to talk to the human.”

But there was suddenly the barest glimmer at Bane’s sleeves.

 _A knife? How did he_ _…?!_

However, the door opened then, and their chance was abruptly shattered. The Karkarodon jerked suddenly out of Bane’s range. A retinue of additional enforcers had arrived, and at their head was another Karkarodon, tawny and muscular like the first.

The torturer saluted. “Captain.”

“What in the stinking hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting answers out of this lot, sir, and—”

“I tell you I need all hands to help the mechanical staff, and the kark do you do? That charge pulse wrecked these old systems! The caravan’s linked up and wasting _so_ much fuel trying to keep us towed out of the planet’s gravity, not to mention _this belt,_ Karmor! Are you…” He snuffled for a second, sneering, peering deep into the lead enforcer’s eyes. “…Are you sampling the cargo again?”

“…No, sir.”

The captain reached out, snagged him by his collar and slammed him into the wall. “You’re lucky you’re my nephew,” he snarled, “Or I’d kill you myself. Black Sun doesn’t keep around spiced muscleheads that don’t follow orders. Or _thieves_.”

Karmor stiffened and scowled. “But—”

“No. We’re handing these lowlifes off on Bothawui. Your pirate-catching stunt worked. Now don’t risk our heads and our pay bonus because you want an excuse to spill a little blood and snort a little glit.”

Bane’s eyes were tracking across the room, fury-wracked, to meet Obi-Wan’s own. Despite being saved from further pain, he looked like someone who’d realized the universe hated him in a very personal, very petty way, and he was gauging where he might best spit in its face.

…Ah. Yes. So this was Black Sun, who’d wanted to hire them to _be_ Karmor, really. It _was_ a little ironic.

And yes, the syndicate would absolutely do far worse than this little dance before killing them.

Bane’s lips were peeling back, and he hissed a sudden, toothy, half-crazed-looking snicker.

The captain sneered. “Weirdo. Guess a smile is a fun quality for a head on a pike, though. Lock ‘em down.”

And so the entire rotten group left, left their two bound captives alone with the two dead bodies. Bane only had a wheezy, spitting cackle to spare at the extra kick he got to his blood-caked leg on Karmor’s way out. Then the energy field activated and hummed around them, its gleaming ruby charge making Obi-Wan’s neck hairs rise.

“Bane,” Obi-Wan sighed, aching in more ways than the physical. “Are you alr—”

“ _Ten thousand_ ships runnin’ through Bothawui a day. Ten thousand! And _we_ get one that’s Black Sun…? Yer a curse!” Bane’s roar cracked through the mangled swell of his throat. “An entire kriffin’ curse!”

“What do I have to do with…”

But the man finally stopped making that awful, eerie rasp-laugh, and the silence was almost worse, in a way. He just meditated on his crusted, ugly stab wound. “… _That Ohnaka bastard_ …”

“…Yes, this is a decidedly different situation than implied. I imagine Hondo expects us to make the best of things anyway.”

Bane’s words wrenched through his teeth. “Suddenly it’s no wonder why he’d want to waste a favor a _Jedi_ owed him, a Jedi and the best hunter in the galaxy, on a puny cargo hold of _medicine_.”

“Spice.”

“ _Glitterstim_. Ye saw how he got my name when ye t’ought a bit too loud.”

“When I… excuse me, when I _thought_ …?”

“Tch. Yeah. Glit-biters can read minds at sufficient dose. That’s why he was snortin’ it during interrogation. Ye never heard that?”

Obi-Wan balked. Spice made people think they could do a _lot_ of things after a puff or two. And yet…

Bane stared him down with the full force and incredulity of a thousand pissy Duros. “A _Jedi_ doubtin’ people doin’ mind tricks is—”

“Trained Force-users and substance addicts are two entirely different things! I’d just… never heard of…”

“Oh, get over yerself.” The man resumed his study of the dead bodies. “Yer lot t’inkin’ yer so special… it’s half the reason why I catch ye by surprise, every time.” His snarl didn’t fade. “Don’t underestimate a bunch of morons jacked up on this stuff. Used to have to deal with this shite in my younger days. Can ye at least try to compartmentalize yer mind, now that ye know what they’re up to? I mean, with _your_ training…”

“Of course… probably… but…” Yes, mental discipline and its applications were part and parcel of being a Jedi, but… Obi-Wan just bit his tongue.

“Good, because if they get savvy to what ye are, yer dead. Ye understand that?” There was suddenly a spark at his wrists as he revealed it had been a microtorch inside his sleeves, and his restraints de-magnetized. Then he rose, limping badly, coming near… and he ignored Obi-Wan entirely, sitting again to fish through their dead cellmates’ pockets. “What did they leave on ye? They were sloppy with my search.”

“Not any weapons.”

“Not what I’m askin’.” One hand pulled free what looked like a little holo-projector from one pirate’s vest. With a click, it beamed up a tiny snapshot of these two, mugging for the camera. They seemed vibrant women, armed to the teeth.

 _May they return untroubled to the cosmic Force_. Obi-Wan sighed. “I have nothing. Were you really about to try and take out that giant with a microtorch?”

“Yeah. Weakest spot on a Karkarodon is their eyes. He goes off-balance, and ye could have pushed him right on top of his ugly little Ugnaught friend with yer Force… then I would have gotten out of the restraints… easy. Or at least a lot easier than gettin’ out _now_.”

Obi-Wan puckered his lips. “Yes, well, regarding my cuffs…”

“ _Don_ _’t touch them_.” Bane jiggled open the back of the holo device and began to nudge things, freeing tiny wires and components. At the bottom of it was a sliver of silvery film, which he delicately extracted. “Hmm,” he said, smiling, licking it unsettlingly. “Real chromium.”

If he was actually going to use a photo projector to break out of a crime syndicate cell, the galaxy could officially give up on keeping him caged. Just… that was it.

Obi-Wan took stock of their surroundings. This brig was limited and cramped, efficient like the rest of this place, with a console just outside controlling the barrier. Hm. It was likely on an independent power system so as not to have been disrupted by the charge pulse. But one couldn’t just reach through with the Force and try and manipulate the levers. An access port spoke to a code cylinder being necessary.

Past all this, a short hallway likely led back to the hold. One could hear the sounds of droids. Possibly organic beings too—the chatter seemed irregular.

“Remind me,” Bane drawled. “Do humans have backup hearts?”

“ _What?_ No!”

“Hm.” He frowned and flipped his tool around, cutting open a little panel at the base of his right cuff—what lay beneath looked bursting with technological detritus.

“May I ask…?”

Bane made a little shrug of _no_ with his mouth, heavily slumped against the wall. But his arms were bound too tightly together, the angle all wrong for him to properly work. “Alright. I’m goin’ to need ye to pull out a couple pieces I can’t reach.” He dragged himself over and fiddled the microtorch to Obi-Wan’s cuffs briefly, demagnetizing them from the floor but keeping them intact.

“Okay…?”

“I need the purple wire.”

Obi-Wan stared. There were five wires, but… “They’re all white.”

“Are ye karkin’… they are _not_. What…?” Bane suddenly blinked rapidly. “Worthless human eyes. Just point to one, and I’ll tell ye if it’s right.”

“They really made these in colors humans can’t process?”

“The galaxy doesn’t revolve around ye _._ ” The man grunted approvingly on Obi-Wan’s second guess. “Tug it loose from the back. Carefully.”

“Alright…?”

“Now give me yer cuffs.”

Obi-Wan was about to comply when a tremor made him lurch. Bane perked, alert, listening. Three rumbles rocked them, one after another, rapid-fire—in the hall beyond, people began to shout.

“Cannon fire,” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “Someone’s attacking!” Bane insistently beckoned for his partner to hurry up. Another shudder squirmed under Obi-Wan’s body as he complied. “Any chance that’s Todo?”

“He’s not one of yer Grand Army astromechs!” Bane’s lip curled. “He can steer, but he’s not even great at that. Weapons systems? Kriff no. Be a miracle if he’s evaded gettin’ blown up.”

“…So you’re saying to stop being hopeful again.”

“ _Yes_.” Bane carefully peeled open a larger access area over the right cuff. There was a vague hum there where Obi-Wan’s skin was thinnest, and he knew the restraints hadn’t been fully de-powered. Hopefully, one of the wires getting defused operated the prisoner control measures, or—

A disciplinary jolt suddenly fired through him, forcing an “Urk!” from his throat. He grimaced in pain.

“…Hold still.”

“I was! _You_ can see all the colors, right?”

“Mostly. Probably.”

“Oh for the love of…” Obi-Wan offered up his wrists again, feeling like his stubbly head hair was sticking as far up as it could. “…Wait. Wait! You’re using marking ink on your sabacc cards that’s invisible to human eyes, aren’t you?”

Bane hesitated, and it was for a moment too long.

“…That’s it, isn’t it?!”

“Why’re ye askin’ _now?_ ”

“I’m multi-tasking.”

“ _Stop that too!_ ”

Then, in the wake of another cannon-rumble, Obi-Wan’s stomach suddenly turned. Bile surged in his throat. Abruptly, corpses, debris, and prisoners shifted, and Obi-Wan’s eyes blurred again, his brain sloshing in his skull.

“The gravity…” he muttered, shaking his head, feeling it pound. Then the ground just… let them go.

Bane growled, shoving from the wall to stay close in an unperturbed way, working feverishly in their new floating drift. “Someone else’s seen this fat spice train just sittin’ here, alright. We need to move fast.” He soldered the now-free wire in his cuffs to one in Obi-Wan’s, exacting, finicky. Then he rolled up the chromium film into a tight, pointy cylinder, passing it over. “I’m goin’ to activate the shocks.”

“While we’re still _wearing_ the restraints?”

“We need to act as conduits; they won’t go off without a prisoner trippin’ the sensors.” He slowly lifted their wrists so the wire fusing them wouldn’t snap, pointing to a precise spot in the containment field in front of the door. “Yer goin’ to need to tap that cylinder right _here_ exactly when I activate the system. My hands’ll be full keepin’ the shocks engaged.”

“I… hold on. Is this that thing you did on Felucia, to get through the fence…?”

“…Less precise. A lot less precise.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not guaranteein’ this’ll work. Only that it’s got a shot if we’re lucky… won’t be pleasant either way. I merged the systems for the right level of power, and it’s goin’ to… kick. But the alternative might be bein’ dead, so…”

Obi-Wan winced in advance. “…Alright. Fine.”

“We won’t be able to keep any breach we make open. Not without external equipment. So the objective is to get _this_ through while the hole’s there.” He lifted the little holo projector shell he’d gutted. “Ye might have a second or two, at best. T’ink yer up to doin’ those two t’ings, Master Jedi?”

Obi-Wan was, he supposed, though he didn’t understand the _why_.

But an alarm began to screech from the cargo hold. He smelled smoke.

Bane didn’t even look. He angled the microtorch in one hand. Matter-of-factly, his other hand suddenly threaded into Obi-Wan’s free one—fingers interlacing, warm and tight.

It was oddly comforting. Solid. Obi-Wan didn’t expect how it lit up the base of his spine all the way to his neck.

No one had just… held his hand… in a long time. Not since…

Not since Satine, so many years ago.

“Now, yer goin’ to flail, and if ye break this little wire runnin’ between us, it’ll shut everythin’ down. So…”

“…Oh.” Obi-Wan wondered at the strange twinge in his chest. “So this isn’t because you’re a secret romantic?”

Bane gave him a glance most weary and appalled.

Bracing himself, nervous sweat tingling down his back, Obi-Wan nodded, as if to say he was ready.

And as it turned out, _it won_ _’t be pleasant_ was an understatement.

Bane jammed the torch into a toggle and voltage slammed them through. Muscles spasmed so hard that Obi-Wan shouted, his diaphragm contracting like a fist to the gut. His free hand swung uncontrollably, just like Bane had said it would, but he managed to wrest it back, to smack the energy field with the chromium point, surging with the electrical current ravaging their bodies.

The barest of holes sparked out through the containment field.

And an even _worse_ energy arc backlashed over him from that, as if his flesh had just caught fire. The projector base would have fallen from his useless fingers if the charge wasn’t also spasming his hand muscles shut. He shook, jaw clenched. Sparks danced between his teeth. If they hadn’t been drifting, he would have crumpled to the floor.

But he managed to shove the device towards the fist-sized breach, desperately channeling the Force.

Then everything just… stopped. The electricity. The horrible spasms.

Gasping, shuddering, a dull agony shot through his skull.

Then he was drifting.

Breathing. In. Out.

His eyelids flickered open. Copper stained his tongue.

Wrenched and wrung like an old towel, his body throbbed. Something smelled like burning. It might have been his nascent hair.

The containment field was closed.

Bane drifted listlessly, bound up close. He smelled like hot leather and ozone, cuffs toasted and sparking. They’d spiraled into each other, almost cheek to cheek.

His hand was still clenched tight in his partner’s own, persistent.

Obi-Wan coughed. “That… was… horrible.” Letting go and pushing gently away, he finally peeled his smoking, obliterated restraints off his arms. The skin was stinging beneath, red and inflamed all up his limbs and through his chest. His head felt like it was going to crack open so his brain might leak out.

Despite a mutually limp form, however, Bane’s grin to the outside world was like he was starving to eat someone’s face. “…Well, it worked.”

And it _had_. The holo-projector merrily floated just outside the cell’s field. For once, Obi-Wan smiled back at his partner’s mean expression with true pleasure. If it weren’t for the terrible pain, he would have offered congratulations for the ploy’s resourceful elegance.

“Great. Now… just wondering… why did we do that…?”

The man wheezed impatiently, as the ship shuddered again in some unknowable assault, as even the emergency lights flickered dangerously. “Do yer Force t’ing! Pop the panel in front of the console. It’s a fossil; if ye jam the thing in the cylinder-lock just right, it’ll short-circuit the identity verification.”

“…I see!” Obi-Wan was already on it. The projector shell lifted, drifted to the controls. It took a few tries, a few graceless smashes into the innards. But the toggles unlocked. The lever and buttons lit.

He reached out one final time and pulled a promising switch. And the containment field… it flickered and died.

Free!

“Unbelievable.” That was really all one could say in the face of it. But as the ship shook again, Obi-Wan forced himself right back into the battlefield expert he’d long learned to be, ignoring the lingering exhaustion and hurts. “Alright. Alright. If we want control of this situation… we need to either take the bridge while they’re occupied or seek out an escape pod,” he coughed, grabbing the wall, pulling himself out into the hall. Bane was right beside him. His torch made short work of a nearby locker, revealing their confiscated equipment.

“Shoot to kill,” the man snarled, passing back that gifted high-powered rifle. He found his tool bag too, and went over his leg wound with bacta spray, flinching, gritting his teeth. “No survivors.”

“…You know that if we find any non-combatants, I’m bound to—”

The man had finished his first aid work, was clipping on his gun belt and his wrist gauntlets. But he grabbed Obi-Wan’s collar, leaning in so close, their foreheads touched. His hiss was ice. “Non-combatants? Are ye _serious?_ Everyone down to the janitors is employed by Black Sun! They put out the word that _my_ face and name was here…!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth dried. “Bane—”

But the man’s bared fangs weren’t the worst part. It was the sudden, distant quietude in his words. “Alright. Fine. I get that ye don’t care if I live or die, Jedi. I get that. After all, yer goin’ back right where ye came from when all this is done, back to yer nice fancy walls with yer armies around ‘em.” An angry punch tilted into his tone. “I’m the one that’s goin’ to be _alone_ , fendin’ fer myself, just like I always do. And what do ye care if ye kark that up fer me too, right?”

“I _told_ you, I—”

“Just move,” he grumbled, turning away, averting his eyes. “Incapacitate like a little grub if ye want. And _I_ _’ll_ shoot anyone yer too much of a coward to end proper.”

A hard lump was in Obi-Wan’s chest that he couldn’t name. It ached, throbbing and cold.

 _Alone_. That was it… how the man had said it. The resigned fury of the prospect.

And it was true.

 _But_ _… it doesn’t have to mean…_

Reaching out, he snagged Bane’s shoulder, fully anticipating the _glare_ that shot into his core. Floating together, unbound, they drifted close again.

“What?” The snap came.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to say, but what he did was offer a kiss, simple, soft. The language of physicality, Bane could process—and in this was the pointed request to stop snarling and listen, to remember what it was they were doing with one another.

He could feel Bane’s jittering anger pulsing under his hands… the reluctant, confused gasp of air, even though his companion didn’t pull away.

It was only for a moment. Obi-Wan knew they hadn’t the time. But as he pulled back: “You can trust that I have your back in this.”

The threatening edge… it almost softened. “…Can I?” Bane muttered, mouth to mouth, nearly too low to be heard. A dizzy rush made a head pound harder. “Ye really want me to trust ye?” The question was quiet. Tired.

Yes, Obi-Wan knew. _Yes_ , and it was a bright, _consuming_ need, to be a man worthy of trust, even here, even with _him_.

Bane engaged the door to the hold, and it slid away, eerie blue firelight and smoke washing over them in a wave. It seemed a portal to a burning underworld. Obi-Wan covered his nose and mouth, eyes stinging.

Bane offered a hand again, a practical thing, to tug him through the anti-gravity and launch them together into hell.

“Prove it,” he challenged.

And Obi-Wan… he reached out and took it without hesitation.


	14. The Spice-Train Robbery, II

Heat roared over Obi-Wan’s skin. The cargo hold was a labyrinth of smoldering crates and ember clouds—the fire suppression systems had clearly failed. Perhaps it was the ailing power.

Thankfully, a blaze in zero-gravity burned weak and blue and quick. But the smoke… it billowed and consumed every scrap of this ancient ship; bodies floated in it, limp, suffocated. Desperate, Obi-Wan channeled the Force and pressed the smoke back, tried to clear at least some air so they could breath, so they could _see_ —

And this revealed that more than the dead remained.

Three enforcers with breathing masks and grav boots immediately began firing on them, rifles drawn as if they’d been expecting a boarding party. But Bane clearly had experience in these conditions. As Obi-Wan drew down a shielding crate with the Force, one of Bane’s rocket boosts flipped him out of harm’s way too—and the man unholstered a pistol with a flourish, downing a Rodian straight through his star-filled eye. It was all a dance seemingly rehearsed. The blowback from the shot even sent him lightly dodging a return volley.

Obi-Wan mentally grabbed two more crates and flung them at their enemies, careening them into another attacker who had arms the size of his thighs and a murderous battle cry to match. The man hit the wall with a crack, limp. A human woman, the final enforcer, managed to get wise and pull herself behind cover. Her return fire scorched the hull over Obi-Wan’s head before Bane blasted the gun straight out of her startled hands.

She didn’t make it past his second shot. Likewise, the first man was finished with a just-in-case bolt, for clearly, Bane kept his promises.

Launching from his vantage point, Obi-Wan kept moving, finding handholds and covering his mouth, stinging eyes on the exit hatch to what was likely the next ship in the transport chain. Another cannon blast from outside rumbled through the floors. It seemed almost no one was left here to even _notice_ this little firefight. The rest had clearly fled or were trying to get control of matters from the cockpit.

A few bursts from his boot thrusters, and Bane was beside him—another alarm blared, and blast doors began to descend at the hold exits. The man picked up speed like a darting fish in a stream, easily shooting himself through the fire-containment energy fields… all while flinging a cocky little salute over one shoulder. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes before quickly pushing himself after. Through the hatch they went.

The previous link-ship closed off, the blast doors locking. Well. No going back now.

Obi-Wan didn’t much care for the new hold where they found themselves though, dim and strangely floral-fragrant, flanked by massive stacks of crates. It felt like a chokepoint. But at least the smoke hadn’t gotten through.

And suddenly, in this new ship, the gravity came back online. They plummeted into the floor. “Ooof!”

A cough of pain came from Bane, something the torture hadn’t even managed. He barely pulled himself back up, though he refused any help. “Kark. We need a proper formation.” He staggered on. “I’ll get in close to any problems. You cover me.”

“On it.” Obi-Wan agreed without thinking, positioning his rifle. It was only after a moment’s consideration that he really noted how badly Bane was still compensating on one leg. The bacta hadn’t had enough time to work, and it had only been one dose anyway.

He had no business being the center of attention.

Clearly he was going to do it anyhow.

Moving forward was tricky. The towers of crates had been flung in the vagaries of the failed and reactivated gravity, their cargo ejected: sprays of gold-green plant stalks and vibrant vermilion petals crackling everywhere underfoot. Obi-Wan squinted and wondered, realizing this was the source of the cloying odor.

He saw bodies strewn here too, though their cause of incapacitation was unclear.

And as they edged beyond the entryway, ducking behind crates as cover, a blaster shot sizzled over his head. He flinched down and away, heart in his throat.

“Snoksnokcha- _skreeeeeee!_ ”

Oh dear. That was a… very rude insult in Ugnaught, and if he remembered his mother better, he might have been offended. Bane growled, lips curling with hatred. “Oh, great, it’s that little son of a—”

 _TSEW!_ Another blaster shot glanced over them, followed by an echoing patter of feet. It had originated from the same angle as the first: how many were gunning for them? Was that sadistic Ugnaught _alone?_

…At the very least, Obi-Wan didn’t see the Karkarodon, and he had a special spot in his tactics reserved for that massive brute. But the man’s presence would have been like hiding a gundark in a shoebox.

Obi-Wan moved to crouch behind a crate nearby, to take better cover so he could see without getting hit. But as he shifted, his stomach roiled fiercely into his throat. His vision blurred. To one knee he went, suddenly almost heaving.

A shot blasted in front of his nose, the residual heat stinging the tip.

“Kenobi!” Bane hissed, yanking him back to safety by his collar.

“I’m fine.” He fought the sensation down, shaking his head. “I have a… a concussion.” But the feeling didn’t fade, and in the curtain of flowery perfume, his head spiked with pain, his muscles shuddering like jelly. The ship-train thrummed with a terrible rumble again, emergency lights starting to blinker.

“Pull yourself together!” The hiss had no sympathy. “I t’ink the little slugspit’s usin’ his size to hide an advance up our flank.”

No sooner did he say it than did the Ugnaught pop from behind another scattered cargo box, considerably closer, line of fire going neatly through their cover. On instinct alone and under the guidance of the Force, Obi-Wan swayed to the right, the blaster bolt going wide, burning the space just an inch from Bane’s eyes.

“No ye don’t!” His partner staggered forward, laying down two shots—but small, quick, the Ugnaught rolled behind another box, plant stalks snapping under his boots. Red energy lit up and superheated the cover’s surface behind him, leaving black, meaningless scorches behind—Bane’s sneering response was all fang, the look of a grudge made personal.

Then a sudden clatter came to the left. The man jerked his entire body like a darting snake to point his gun.

And the Ugnaught surged from the right under the cover of the distraction, holding a little bag of dust like it was a bomb. He pitched it, exploding it in Bane’s face.

Bane’s eyes widened—he immediately backpedaled, covering his mouth, but it was too late. His body locked up as he hacked into his arm.

And their attacker raised his gun at Obi-Wan, charging—

“Stop!” Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, snagging him up and binding him mid-air. The Ugnaught’s eyes went wide with sudden terror, struggling, realizing this operation had become the target of a Jedi. Panicked saliva dripped around some sort of rebreather between his teeth.

Then Bane shot him, clean in the head.

Obi-Wan felt the precise moment life left that form, that it became little more than a bundle of organic material in clothes. He dropped the Ugnaught, sighing deeply. At least there had been no suffering.

“Bane, are you—”

The man was wheezing frantically, spittle flying as he coughed. The dust had settled on his clothes, on his face, and he was frantically wiping it away. Obi-Wan pulled one of the rags from his pocket and tried to help.

This… this dust, it was… sparkling…

But even as he thought it, his vision blurred, and he swayed again. The smell of this room was overwhelming. The floral gravity. The earthy _stink_. Instead of assisting, he nearly ejected his breakfast on his shoes.

Something screamed inside that they were vulnerable, that anyone could come up on them and attack too, and they needed to get out of the open instead of flailing and choking…

But suddenly, he was on his back, staring at the ceiling. He blinked. The world was a slurry.

Despite the Ugnaught’s dead body beside him… despite _all_ this… something warm and sweet was also bubbling up. Peace. Under these stark white lights and scattered, broken crates, something was just so… peaceful here.

Mmm.

His brain clogged with gravity and sunshine.

_Sleep._

His eyes fluttered, awash in the dizziness, sweet and earthy like a summer’s day. Inside it, a memory jangled its chime, but it wouldn’t quite surface, not quite… Obi-Wan listed as his brain swirled in the quietude, as if he’d found a place strong in the living Force, a place of the light.

Bane was swaying overhead too, blurred and wheezing horribly, but there was something in his mouth now, something that was making his breath tinny and strange. Rebreather…?

The Ugnaught… he’d been wearing one too…

The meaning of this was slow to register, but alongside it, that memory-feeling rang out again.

 _“Yousa should see them bloomin’ in the spring,”_ a formless voice itched in this thoughts. _“Just wanna lie in ‘em all morning. Sleepy bye bye.”_

…Senator Binks. Naboo.

Milliflower. That’s what this smell was! Milliflower!

The galaxy’s great tranquilizer.

“…Oh,” he said at Bane, and then he did throw up.

The world dimmed.

His consciousness faded in and out, his stomach cramping and pained. There was a firm grip around his collar then. An unsteady drag on a cold floor. A stink of his own bile smearing his collar.

Mmm. Quite a lot of bodies in here, weren’t there…?

Something metallic was then crammed over his lips, a hum vibrating. His air was suddenly bitter and stale… yet some deep-buried training instinct kicked in, knew what it was even as he was too lost in the clouds of his mind to register.

Rebreather mask.

He sucked in deep through his mouth, and almost instantly, _oxygen_ came. Pure. The fog began to part. A splitting headache blossomed.

His eyes clear, his world ceasing its collapse into vertigo, he managed to sit up. “…Wha?” The grunt was tinny in his breathing channel.

“Mm,” Bane replied, looking deeply displeased in his own mask as he gauged the locks at the threshold to the next ship in the chain. He didn’t look back. His shoulder-tautness conveyed a decent amount of impatience, as if he wanted everyone to remember there was an unknown amount of enforcers around here somewhere, and they were extraordinarily lucky the Ugnaught had been the only one in _this_ link who'd masked up. Everyone else on the ground had likely been a victim of poisoning from the cargo.

Obi-Wan staggered to his feet, trying not to throw up a second time.

“All dose bodies,” Bane hissed, resonant voice taking on a peculiar mechanical quality. His already-dodgy _th_ sounds weren’t even trying to stick the landing anymore, like his tongue had swollen. Whatever that extra dust had been that he’d inhaled… “Dey’re just sleepin’… kriff it, we should go back and shoot ‘em…” He winced in on himself, swaying dangerous, waving his gun wildly. Obi-Wan caught his arm.

“…Execute them in their sleep?!”

“Do ye really t’ink it’s gonna work out fer us when they wake up?!” He slammed his fingers into the door keypad. It bleeped an angry code right back.

But suddenly, stance loose and strange, Bane seemed to figure out what he was looking at. He straightened. A rumble-rasp sounded in his chest. “Oh. Course it’s not goin’ to open. Dis is it. Dis is the lead ship. Out dere’s space.” And with two fingers, he waved Obi-Wan away, a silent ask to follow.

“What did that Ugnaught hit you with?”

“Probably a thousand credits worth of glitterstim.” His voice wrenched thin. Faraway. “And everyt’in’… everyt’in’ is real clear all of a sudden…”

Oh dear.

Away he skittered from the sealed link-hatch, instead to a different door that seemed to lead to the prow… possibly the cockpit. This ingress was locked too, keypad glinting an angry red. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, sensing the lock, sensing the archaic mechanism… if he could just… just…

“I’ve got it,” Bane hissed.

“If you give me just a minute…” Obi-Wan knew this would be no simple thing to slice; but he could feel the Force around this lock, like a puzzle just needing to be nudged in a small way…

“Nonono _no_.” Bane shoved him back, words rapid, tenor juicing up with an almost manic hum. “I remember. I remember _everyt’in’_. I…” Then he just entered a code, his hands shaking like he’d been injected with his body weight in caff. The panel lit green for him like he was the president of the shipping company. The door opened.

Amongst the many toggles and screens of a cockpit, a stunned captain reared back.

Bane swayed, then shot a bolt into his head too.

“How did you know how to…?” Obi-Wan winced, stepping over the body. Drugged Bane jittered right into a cockpit in chaos. Consoles blared, displays beeping their cautionary red. The ship had been pushed into the asteroid belt, and something was clearly wrong with the engines. Half of the battery against the hull, the constant thundering, was probably due to the starfighter-sized rocks bouncing into the defenses.

They also seemed to be… drifting closer to the planet.

Caught in its gravity.

“CorDuro!” Bane grumbled into his rebreather mask. “I told ye: dis is a Cor _Duro_ ship! Stripped ‘em for parts years back. Iddits never changed the manufacturer override passcode. I kin get ye into anyt’in’ on dis stupid ancient piece of shite!”

Obi-Wan closed the door and sealed it, hoping no one else would know that trick. Bane was furiously overriding the consoles now too, and it seemed he was having some success. It was as if the glitterstim had flared his synapses so brightly that he couldn’t stop moving, could barely keep his furious fingers up with his brain, something that apparently was seeing and hearing everything, remembering _everything_ , even obscure passcodes from _years_ gone by.

Obi-Wan had certain concerns, despite the success it brought.

Regardless, he took in the display readings.

_My word._

Three pirate vessels floated in the belt now, carefully parting through the asteroids, bearing them down. Their weapons were aimed and locked. Waiting. Watching their prey slowly wrench itself apart.

This spice caravan really had tried helping to tow its lagging link in the chain after he and Bane had shuttered its engines, and that distraction had been all of their downfall, made them vulnerable to a second attack. Seven ships long now, they were limp and smoking and spiraling, a dying vine. Almost all the enforcers had been diverted to the middle and back it seemed—their dots blinkering in an on-screen layout map—likely desperate to put out fires and keep shields running. The tail ship appeared to have had its shield power drained entirely to more critical sectors, so much that it had been peeled open to the interior by asteroids.

Unsalvageable. So help the people that had been inside.

But any overrides seemed centralized to this lead ship, and the captain hadn’t been willing to abandon a single speck of cargo.

The lure of greed…

“The pirates are hailing us,” Obi-Wan realized, seeing the light blinking.

“ _…I know.”_ Saliva leaked down one of Bane’s lip corners as he removed his mask, his slur growing. “And I don’t wanna talk… she’s just gonna get pissed ‘bout de storm.” A hand whipped dismissively at nothing.

Obi-Wan didn’t understand, but knew their lives probably depended on telling the pirates to cease fire. So he flicked the toggle and answered the call anyway. And who should materialize before them, head cocked and impatient, but a pale, ruthless, dark-eyed woman that he was not enamored of.

“Oh, hey there. Look at you two! Alive and everything! Maybe you’ve still got it after all, Bane.”

“…Aurra.” The man didn’t seem surprised in the least, adjusting settings furiously while he growled. “S’pose Ohnaka sent ye to look after de _investment_.”

That sharp smile answered. “…Nothing personal. Saw the caravan gearing up for hyperspace. Figured it went bad. So I sent a few torpedoes to keep ‘em put… and took out some of the fuel station security getting uppity out here. You’re welcome for the assist.”

“I’m not t’ankin’ ye!” Slowly, Bane cocked his head—that burning glare didn’t seem at all concerned that the caravan was now headed towards certain doom, and for that, Obi-Wan was alarmed. “Obviously ye won’t be able to just dock and do a transfer now.”

“Why do you think I’m calling? What’s the plan to get that thing out of the belt? I’ve got three raiding ships standing by. I assume you’ve taken care of the enforcers, of course.”

A fierce grimace. “Ship’s not gettin’ out of de belt, Aurra. Goin’ down planet-side.”

“You’re going to let it crash…!” She stood. “You can’t do that; you—!”

“Dere’s no odder way!” His words became the spray of an automatic trigger squeeze, nimble hands punctuating his points. “De damaged t’rusters aren’t nimble enough to navigate back out—dese t’ings could barely navigate an asteroid cluster dis tight anyway before ye blew ‘em to hell! And we can’t stay put!” An angry arm swung. “We’re gettin’ torn apart! So yer just goin’ to have to come down to the surface to get yer loot! Dat’s the problem wit’ targetin’ de aft engines _instead of just de hyperdrive—!_ ”

“Bane… are… are you _drunk?_ Can’t you just detach a few links in the chain? We can magnetize and tow.”

“ _No!_ ” The train was picking up speed as it drifted closer into the planetary atmosphere… starting to rotate and spin out as gravity punished it for daring to return to its embrace. “No time! Just meet us down dere once de wedder clears!”

“Weather?! That is probably a class 5 acid storm—!”

He cut the feed. “ _I karkin’ told ye_ ,” he growled, settling in the pilot’s chair.

“…Excuse me, but _acid storm?_ ”

Bane didn’t answer, reversing the thrusters to fight their spiral, to find some stability. The train shuddered, groaning in the strain. “It buys us time to signal Todo and get our way out from under Ohnaka. We take it. I don’t care if de clouds are spittin’ lava; _I’m gettin’ what I’m owed._ ”

So this was the trajectory of his spiced calculations: his reward. Lovely. And there was no stopping their fall now. Another grinding wail shuddered through them as another asteroid deflected off their port side. “Fine; we’re going to need all the power we can get in the shields.” Obi-Wan joined him, flipping some toggles, reading the displays. “Most of the ships in the chain are only averaging at 45%, if they’re up at all!”

“Aurra’s too effective fer her own karkin’ good! Need to re-route de generators.” He hooked into the dash briefly with his wrist-com, hit a few buttons, then disconnected, bounding back. “Take over flyin’!”

Surprised, Obi-Wan did so, the craft quaking into his palms, the gravity against the controls immediately straining his wrists. His partner didn’t even insult his piloting this time; he just vibrated furiously to other consoles, analyzing, firing off commands to the defenses.

Slowly, the vessel eased into a saner descent—though it still felt like a spooked animal wanting to bolt and dash itself open on the earth. And as Obi-Wan desperately reined it in, they broke the troposphere— _turn! TURN!_ He barely avoided barreling into a barren cliffside near invisible from the clouds. This world… it seemed dark and strange and empty of _any_ life. Nothing but stone and searing chemicals. “Secure yourself for the crash!”

Bane lurched in the train’s sharp swerve and grabbed the wall. “Worry about yer own business! _”_

“My business includes making sure you’re safe!” Goodness knew, ten steps ahead, he wasn’t thinking about _now_.

Bane watched him through slitted eyes, as if this was a cartful of bantha poodoo he had _not_ requested and did _not_ appreciate in its delivery. But he slunk into a seat and belted himself in anyway.

Kriffing _good_.

A wash of rain hosed the shields, and the console wailed frantically that this was _not_ the sort of rain ships had any business with. They were going much, much too fast… their angle of descent was a death wish—! Frantically, Obi-Wan veered again to avoid another mountain, and the train groaned in agony as it sluggishly rolled, nose tilting, the failing starboard thrusters combusting from the strain. He knew a powerful trail of smoke was probably scorching out behind them.

_I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me._

That old mantra always did comfort.

And he did feel the Force in him, around him, pulsing through this world.

He desperately yanked them to the right now, even though he only knew why on instinct… and another cliffside emerged in the stormy black, barely missed.

One klick from impact.

Spires of rock rose beneath, purple and coal-dark and twisted. Glittering green lakes too—possibly acidic, just like the rain. Bane was making microadjustments to their landing gear and shields from his chair.

_I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me._

Half klick.

The nose pitched, and Obi-Wan’s muscles bulged in the strain of trying to wrench it high, trying to pull up and even out.

_I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me._

Quarter klick.

There! A flat expanse of dirt!

The console screamed. The craft skidded against another rock wall, the tremors rocking him through.

Angle. All he could do was angle and feel the universe and hope.

“Obi-Wan!” Bane’s voice cracked through his concentration, a startling shout. “We’ve got a problem! Dey’ve—”

The train hit the dirt, rumbling, jarring, and final—skidding through the stone, screaming and grinding. The individual ships in the chain crumpled like a broken serpent’s spine.

Obi-Wan’s neck snapped back on impact. He saw nothing but white.

And then, train, pilot, and world lay still.

* * *

Cool water. Precious. Soothing. It burst over Obi-Wan’s face, a cold cloth pushing back his sweat. He felt like he was on fire; his skin stinging from the heat.

He forced his eyes open, gummy and bleary.

A kind stare was peering down, long hair framing a gentle, stern face. “Master…” Obi-Wan’s croaking voice was too high, a boy’s tenor.

“Take care,” Qui-Gon cautioned. “You need to rest. You’re _very_ ill.”

Wasn’t this… Ord Mantell? He remembered getting sick here as a youth, in their travels…

No, that didn’t make sense. As a youth? He was only thirteen years old; he _was_ a youth. “I’ve been having… the strangest dreams…” What had it been? Flickers of it pulsed, seeds of a coming migraine. There’d been a ship built like a long worm, burning as it spiraled through an atmosphere. There’d been a mission, painful, reckless, one he’d given himself against all common sense.

There’d been a companion, dangerous, strange… but someone that felt, in that moment, like the most important thing he’d ever forgotten.

He couldn’t quite hold onto it. It kept slipping back into fevered shadows.

And Qui-Gon was silent, though his gaze gleamed with his quiet intelligence, as if there were things of which he knew he should not speak.

“Master.” Obi-Wan tried again, throat scraping. “I think I’m supposed to remember something.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded like delirium… but he forged on. “I keep trying, but I can’t hold on…”

“Young one…” Qui-Gon’s voice was so soft. “The Force is like water. You cannot gather it up in your hands and hold it close.” The barest suggestion of a smile touched his face. “It’s the surest way to lose anything you wish to keep. You’re always wanting everything to fit within defined boundaries, as you were taught. But let it go. Simply sink into the Force’s will, and it will come. What you are seeking will come.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and for a moment, it was okay he couldn’t remember what he was looking for. All he wanted was that hand to his head, the cool water a balm to his fevered brain.

He knew he wasn’t alone, under his teacher’s watchful gaze..

But his skin, it hurt all over. It _burned_. He shut his eyes, unable to sink and relax as instructed. So much… so much pain…

Coughing, choking, he began to flail. His eyes opened.

Master Qui-Gon was gone.

Twin orange-reflective gleams peered down in his stead, floating in the pitch dark. Obi-Wan gave a surprised exhale, feeling a bundle of leather under his head. The air smelled like acrid ozone, the floor hard beneath.

“ _Shhhh_ ,” Bane hissed, breath tinged with those floral cigarettes, smoky, almost soothing in a strange way. One hung from his fingers now, his rebreather mask loose around his neck.

Obi-Wan quieted.

But his skin burned, down his chest, over his arms. His shirt was gone. Cool cloths soaked in water peeled from his body as he sat up.

The cockpit. They were still there, but no power lit the room, not even emergency lights. There was an awful dripping noise. A hissing. The ship was so damaged that acid was seething through select holes in the ceiling, worming through the hull walls and settling in the corners. The two of them were huddled near the door, away from the leaks… for now.

“Can ye fight?” The fact that this was the first, low question out of Bane’s mouth made Obi-Wan shake himself alert, stowing his _many_ queries. He was bruised, certainly, his skin furiously inflamed… and his neck ached fiercely when turned, likely whiplash from the crash. There could very well be a second concussion on top of his first.

Or… third?

He was… quite dizzy…

Goodness. If the Force hadn’t been with him, helping him heal and endure, by now, he’d probably have been dead.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Good. Because I wasted all our bacta on yer damned brain-case.” The man was breathing much too fast and shallow still, voice swollen and tight. Clearly the glitterstim gripped him yet. “Caught a signal goin’ out from one of de links—crew callin’ for help. I signaled Todo. But de storm’s goin’ to prevent anyone from comin’… Aurra or Black Sun or whoever... fer now.” He nodded at the dead consoles. “Power failed in dis link. Shields went down. De storm might do serious damage to us if we don’t move on.”

Obi-Wan slowly made out the dim outline of his shirt crumpled nearby. When he carefully picked it up with one finger, he found it eaten through with holes.

Oh. That was why his chest and arms felt like they were on _fire_. The beginnings of chemical burns.

Bane made a strange noise in his chest, pointed carelessly at a nearby empty canteen. “Had to get ye washed down.”

Obi-Wan belatedly realized, in the near absence of light, that the man actually didn’t have a shirt either. He appeared to have sliced it up, making the wet cloths to wipe away the acid leaks before more than a few minor blisters were left behind. It had to have been an exceedingly quick job. “…Thank you. Are you hurt?”

A sharp, tense shrug. “Leg. Old news.”

“How badly?” One could sense the frown instead of seeing it. “Bane.”

“I can walk. Look: it’s about ten minutes since de crash—de blast door to dis lead ship sounds like it’s still sealed from de fire, but it’s not goin’ to hold if pressed. Any crew still alive will head dis way eventually.”

“Can we take control of the shields from the next ship back, maybe re-route power?”

“Maybe, if de fire didn’t destroy everyt’in’. Probably best we try, if we want to make sure our way outta dis _debt_ isn’t melted into the karkin’ dirt.”

Funny he was focused on that, and not _they themselves_ getting melted. Regardless, Obi-Wan shook himself, accepting the need for them to charge half-naked, spiced, and terribly injured into another possible firefight.

Regardless of his pain, when he rose, he was of a light step. Perhaps his senses were so dizzy, he wasn’t feeling his body correctly. Hm.

They emerged from the cockpit, rebreathers secured again, into a spice cargo hold as pitch dark and devoid of life as a tomb. No doubt those who had been knocked out from the drug exposure hadn’t weathered the crash well. Quite possibly they were dead now, instead of merely sleeping.

And… well… inhaling that much milliflower for so long anyway…

…It was known for being a popular political poison, in a high enough dose.

There was the dripping noise here too. That soft hiss in the walls. Bane clicked on a small handheld light, passing another one over. Cargo and storage bins were overturned in an even worse scatter, mixed with the occasional limb poking from the debris. In several spots, liquid dribbled through the ceiling, forming vibrantly green, smoking puddles.

It was a slow walk. Bane’s step through the remains wasn’t so silent anymore—a drag in one foot. He was partially braced to the wall, face peaked, throat so bruised and swollen from the shock-prod torture that it seemed a miracle he was was capable of speech at all. It was likely excruciating.

“Have we already raided this ship’s medical supplies?” Obi-Wan asked softly.

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Alright. How… impaired are you right now, mentally?”

The man jerked, eyes a rapid blink. “Brain’s on _fire_.” A hiss of hesitation came. “Look… dis spice is gonna crash me, Obi-Wan… won’t be all dat useful soon here.” Bane swayed as he spoke this alarming honesty, air huffing too fast again, like the adrenal-soaked breath of prey in a net. He’d drawn a gun again in one hand, clenched like he might strangle it.

They worked their way back to the hatch that would lead to the ship where they’d been imprisoned, but as they reached the blast doors, Bane stopped. He held up a hand.

And a loud, resounding _thoooom_ resounded through the barrier.

“Yeah…” Bane swallowed, and it seemed a painful act. “Dey’re here.” He backpedaled, almost falling. Obi-Wan caught his arm, forced him to accept support, and hobbled him back and away behind a crate stack.

Another cracking bludgeon of a noise split the air, a terrible dent wrenching out in the metal.

“You need to stay put.” Obi-Wan set Bane down behind a box, squinting, finding a covered path behind the cargo that might let him flank their soon-to-be visitors.

“I’m not lyin’ helpless while—” Bane fought himself away from the helpful brace, trying to stand again, then just wheezed and collapsed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Again the door resounded with fury. Whoever was on the other side had taken an absolute battering ram to the ancient ship.

Obi-Wan put his hands to Bane’s shoulders, as if he might shake sense into him. “Stay here, and stay quiet. Turn your light off. _Trust me_. I’m not leaving you to _die_.”

He couldn’t read the expression he received in return, that sneering mouth covered with a facemask. Bane’s eyes glazed. It was quite possible the forewarned crash had _long_ since begun.

“Stay out of sight,” Obi-Wan emphasized one, final time before making his move, running to starboard, using the crates to start to flank their coming intruders like the clever Ugnaught enforcer had done. No sooner did he get behind cover and deactivate his light, however, than a final, ear-splitting _thoooom_ sounded, the metal of the blast doors wrenching. Hands thrust through the crack left in its wake. Massive, muscled arms squealed the doors open, enforcers laying down a blitz of blaster fire to cover their boss as he bellowed and forced the gates wide.

The giant Karkarodon roared.

It was him and three others that stepped through the breach, rebreathers already secured to their faces, swinging their guns through the pitch dark. Lights secured to their rifles sent spotlights out into the dim. Obi-Wan quieted his breathing.

Karkarodon were fine hunters.

“I SMELL BLOOD!” Karmor bellowed through the rebreather. “UNCLE! ARE YOU ALIVE?!” His pained shout boomed off the empty space, and though Obi-Wan knew from that sag that a reply wasn’t expected, the grief for the slain captain was likely quite real.

And also, it seemed, _brief_ , because Karmor started snickering then: an unsettling, scraping grind in his massive throat that echoed through the shadows. “Ohhhh, guess I’m in charge now then!” He loosened his mask to take a brief whiff of air before resecuring it. “And I can smell little _rats_. I can smell _Duros_. I can smell _human_ … oh, those prisoners are _bleeding_ ; they definitely came this way…”

He crept forward, meaty fists bunched into body-breaking readiness.

“Wasn’t going to kill and eat you lot before,” he snarled. “But I am now. Black Sun can have your kriffing _bones_.”

Obi-Wan stepped soft, crouched low, knowing his disadvantage. Trying to bind the man with the Force would take all his concentration, and the others would open fire. But try to quickly knock them all off balance instead, and what would a Jedi do then? It would merely give away his position, buying him only seconds. Alternatively, he could start shooting. But in this haphazard, close-quarters space, if he made any mistake, if Karmor got loose even for the barest of moments… well, this rifle might get several scattered shots off, but the giant would be on him then, attempting to crunch him in half. Karkarodon had beastly thick hides, and this one was likely not on a wavelength to register much pain.

However…

From behind, one might have a moment to aim, take out an ankle to disable any charges—then deal with the three backup.

Ah. Perfect. He’d crept far enough to the rear, and here, the crates had fallen in just such a way to shield him while creating a small blaster window.

Silently, he drew up his rifle, leveling it, aiming, calling on the Force.

And then, as he shifted his weight, his heel softly crackled.

Dried milliflower stalks.

Karmor whipped around, bellowing. All three of his backup spun, their own rifles spraying.

_Kriff!_

Obi-Wan managed to hit two of the enforcers, one right after the other in the chest, dropping them. But they’d drawn tight around their superior, blocking those shots from doing the most good. The third backup returned fire so accurately, Obi-Wan was forced to fall and cower, the scorching energy boiling hot just past his head. He rose again, hearing thundering Karkarodon steps coming towards—

But Karmor suddenly roared again, spinning back before he could fully close the distance. Blaster fire winged his rebreather. Bane! The man had dragged himself up, was leaning heavily against the crates at the room’s other end, pistol steadied by both hands. “Heyyy! You want to dance wit’ someone wit’ real skill, ye oversized fishspawn?!”

Oh. Oh _no_ no no.

Still, he was a fine distraction. Karmor, furious, blood-mad, charged him, just as Obi-Wan managed to drop the final member of the enforcer backup, a man whose helmet wasn’t high-grade enough to withstand a shot from the Republic’s finest gun designers. Nothing in the galaxy could have stopped his brute of a boss, however, and Bane couldn’t rely on his usual nimbleness. His leg lagged. Karmor burst through his cover of protective crates like it was made of paper, plowing Bane into the wall with just one mighty blow. The man crumpled. “SNAP YOU IN HALF, YOU SCRAWNY BASTARD!” Karmor seized Bane, tore off his rebreather, and held him up like he truly intended to do just that, right over his knee.

Bane wheezed, then fired his pistol as he was shook to and fro like a child’s doll. It went wide, high into the ceiling, and Karmor laughed. “Little pop-gun won’t do anything to me, you—”

Then he _screamed_. Bane dropped from his grip and rolled away, swaying, staggering, clearly hurt and sucking down far too much milliflower dust to be healthy. But Karmor scampered back. His flesh sizzled and popped.

The wayward shot had gone into the hull. Acid streamed through, all over the hulking man’s back. His rebreather began to smoke, and he tore it away, as if panicked.

Obi-Wan ran in, just as Bane fell into a limp pile on the hold floor. He seized a crate with the Force, sent it plowing into Karmor as hard as he could. Milliflower dust exploded out as it rammed into him, sending him onto his back.

And yet, Karmor still didn’t stay down. Another roar burst from him, almost ear-drum shattering. “Jedi?!” It was as if he thought his glit-habit had progressed into hallucinations. He rolled up to his feet no matter his injuries and drugged blood, struggling forward, teeth bared wide.

_TSEW!_

A blaster shot resounded from where Bane lay, right to the man’s leg. Karmor was immediately stripped of his gravity privileges. He slipped into a screeching, twitching pile at Obi-Wan’s feet.

Obi-Wan fired the final shot into his temple. The man seized.

Jerked.

Fell still.

The pistol dropped from Bane’s hand. That act of defiance seemed to cost him everything. His eyes fluttered shut. “Yer… _yer welcome_ ,” he snipped at the ceiling before his jaw sagged in unconsciousness.

Alone now, Obi-Wan ran to his companion, checking his pulse. Thank the Force; the man hadn’t yet joined the dead here. He scanned the room, listened.

No one else was coming.

 _Alright. Alright. I’ll see us through the rest of the way._ Resolved, Obi-Wan slung his companion over his shoulder, warm and secure, and trudged them on to their goal.

The blast doors were breached between these two ships now, but fortunately, it seemed as if the ones on the far side to the rest of the chain were not. Any further enforcers or traps were blissfully locked behind very solid metal. And power remained here, dim red emergency lights.

Thankfully, this ship wasn’t on fire now, and even the smoke had vented away. A massive chunk had been battered open in the ceiling, likely in their descent—the thundering black sky could be seen through the gash, shining acid rain seething, hissing, sparking against the beleaguered shields. Obi-Wan’s eyes and skin tingled hot with warning. This atmosphere was breathable, but these fumes… shaky, he managed to lug Bane to the link’s cockpit, sealing it behind them, glad for the power still there.

Down his limp partner went to the floor. Obi-Wan tapped at the local terminal, restarting the generator. It was ailing, but it seemed it could leech enough energy from the rest of the chain to enforce these shields a little longer, perhaps even push minimal protection over the milliflower cargo too.

The barometric pressure was rising outside, according to the instruments. The storm might pass soon.

They were going to make it.

He sagged with relief, then made sure again that the cockpit door was very locked, just in case. Taking his hot, uncomfortable rebreather from his face, he sighed and sat next to his companion.

Bane… didn’t look to be in good shape. Though Obi-Wan had recovered quickly from his own brief stint inhaling the spice, he was starting to suspect it metabolized differently in a Duros. And Bane had breathed more than just milliflower—though now, he wasn’t breathing right at all. Those aspirations were soft. Faint. Skipped too much, and Obi-Wan’s thumbs found his pulse thundering under his skin. Though his companion had the drive to fight through a great deal, chemical overdose was not a question of will.

Bane made a strangled noise, head loosely flopping as Obi-Wan adjusted him, trying to keep him on his side in case his system tried to purge. A thin slice of red peeled back, took in this assistance. The dullness to those eyes was like he was trapped behind fogged glass.

“Are you there?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what else to say, one hand on his shoulder. Would Bane even want reassurances? Would he care someone was out here, giving _far_ too many damns about his labored air?

That vacant expression sagged, mouth open and twitching with a mild froth. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t calming. Obi-Wan’s heart pounded so hard, it _hurt_.

If… if Bane up and _died_ here…

There was no version of the galaxy in which that would seem remotely right…!

“Bane,” Obi-Wan urged, gripping his shoulder tighter. “You’re going to be fine. You and I both know you’re far, far too stubborn to be done in by this. Now: you’ve been dosed with enough spice to make you severely intoxicated, but it’s nothing a bit of rest won’t fix. Do you understand? Milliflower’s primarily a tranquilizer. You might not be able to move your body like you want. But maybe you can hear me… so know that I’ve got you. We’re under shields. We’re safe. The storm will end soon.”

Bane curled up tighter into himself. That… that seemed a good sign. People usually became paralyzed if they’d had a lethal dose, right? He could still move.

And suddenly, he reached out, tugging Obi-Wan’s sleeve. A loud grunt followed, a face tightening with effort. His froth was expelled in a spit.

“What is it? What do you need?” The words were soft on Obi-Wan’s tongue.

That head shook doggedly as Bane grumbled urgently under his breath, things spoken alongside a stare of extreme gravity.

“…What did you say?” Obi-Wan leaned in. “I’m listening.”

Bane stilled. He breathed in deeply again, glare piercing, then desperate, he tried once more. “…Obi…Wa…”

A gentle palm placed a soothing touch to that scalp. It was burning. “What is it?”

“Obi…” It was an almost rattling rasp.

“I’m here.”

“Obi… Kenobi…dobi… babobi.” Bane then popped his lips and leaned into the hands against his face like a stray Loth-cat wanting to be pet.

“…What.”

“Yer name… stupid.” He melted against the floor. A hand came up, patted a nose like one might check a Meiloorun to see if it was ripe.

_“What?”_

“Hmph.” That naturally furrowed brow dug itself in deeper, an accusing finger pointing. “Don’t even t’ink ‘bout my name. S’not stupid! Cad’s short fer—! Ye.… ye know what, _kriff_ ye, ye kin learn Durese and figger out it out yersel’.”

Obi-Wan stared at the wall, processing.

“Obi sounds like a food grandmudder’s make… ye know de one… it _jiggles?_ But… but… Kabobi… Why aren’t we in da… place. With da buttons…? Where ye fly da ship. The master one.”

“…The lead cockpit?”

The man almost choked on his own spit. A horrible loopy wheeze-laugh compressed from his lungs. “ _Cockpit…!_ Dat… dat’s what ye kin call yer—”

“ _Is there a reason you want to be there?_ ”

“Well. If yer just gonna wait around… and we have shields… might as well take da captain’s money.” He smiled contentedly at nothing.

“I… I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about at a time like this.”

“Credits are _credits_.”

Stunning. Absolutely stunning. “…Fine. This is possible. But you’re the one that knows all the override passcodes apparently, not me.”

“Pfffffffft.” Bane just put a whole hand over Obi-Wan’s face, like it was too much for him to both see his conversation partner and think at the same time. “Six.”

Obi-Wan firmly moved the fingers blocking his ability to either see or speak. “And…?”

“…Fourrr.” The word went deep into the man's chest and hummed.

“ _And?_ ”

“…T’reeee…”

It had easily been a ten-digit sequence. “Six, four, three…?”

“… _No, iddit_. Ye forgot de _eight_.”

Obi-Wan sighed from the very seat of his soul, journeying the meditative valley of his mind in which he dealt with strong negative emotions. He was so glad his companion probably wasn’t dying. He was so upset this was the alternative.

Bane’s gaze fluttered with impatience. “Just use mah scramble key if ye can’t remember it! Feh. Bet dat idiot temple doesn’t even teach ye ‘bout _algoriddims_ …” Wobbly fingers reached in a pocket to retrieve a little lockbreaker device. This, he seemed to want to put up Obi-Wan’s nose before dropping it entirely.

Bane then assumed the fetal position, yawned so wide he looked about to unhinge its jaw, and fell back asleep.

Obi-Wan stared. Alright. Alright, fine.

He took Bane’s coat off his body though, stuffed it under his skull so he wouldn’t just be face-to-the-durasteel. Then he swayed himself up, affixing his rebreather again and getting the lay of the land outside.

There were no sound or issues with the other blast door still. Good. Probably best to leave Bane where he napped. A small cargo lift easily let him snag an empty crate from the hold, let him push it along back the way he’d come: through the milliflower. Through the dead.

It was morbid and very morally gray, he decided, doing this. But it did serve a larger purpose beyond Bane’s whimsy. Obi-Wan might not have been some freebooter, but this _was_ a criminal operation, naturally, and any credits the captain was hoarding really couldn’t just _remain_ here, lest a syndicate certainly take them back. Or someone else. And truly, as much as he was willing to deal with Hondo on the right day, that man was certainly _also_ a pair of very grabby, greedy, and altogether incorrect hands for such a stash.

 _Not our contract to give him anything outside the holds anyway,_ said a little voice inside, one that almost felt part Hardeen and part sensible Jedi in a fusion he’d scarcely predicted.

There was indeed a safe in the cockpit as Bane had guessed, one that scramble key cracked in less than a minute. And… _oh my._ There really were sizable credits inside. A little _vault_. Probably all the captain’s petty cash for if something went wrong and he needed to quickly abandon ship.

Obi-Wan considered this trove, and then the empty crate he carried.

“My apologies,” he told the dead man on the ground, and he removed every last glittering token, stomach prickling warm in a way he mistrusted but could do nothing about. It created a stunning layer at the bottom of his box: a thin blanket of shining gold. This in tow, he returned to the powered cockpit where his companion remained.

Ah. The rain crackling on the shields… it was easing considerably.

No sooner had he returned, however, than the ship console bleeped a warning. Ah. Curse it. Todo hadn’t arrived first… but Aurra Sing certainly had. Three gun-laden raiding ships were descending on them, clearly in full awareness of the time at stake before the rains returned… or more Black Sun showed up.

No doubt he’d need to do some smooth talking. Stalling. Todo couldn’t be that far out…

But then there was Bane to consider, snoozing in his content mound, face smiling deep in his leather. His colleague could _not_ witness him like this. She would ruthlessly press her advantage until it buried them both.

Bane would need to be unseen… a threat in the background whose placement she didn’t know.

Well…

There was quite a bit of extra _room_ in the box, wasn’t there? Climate sealed. Just enough oxygen…

It was decided. Into the crate Bane went, one less object to carry. He even seemed to like it, unconsciously curling over his new credits like a bird in its roost. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and closed the lid. _Bounty hunters._

Best make this fast before the man woke up and got upset about being in there.

Quietly, he squeezed through the gnarled tear in the hull to the outside world, taking his cargo with him. This planet was unpleasant and strange, sulfurous in odor—the rebreather was no longer necessary, but the oxygen burned lightly in Obi-Wan’s nostrils. Unwise to be out in it for long. Above, the sky spun green, the clouds glittering wisps. Black-purple gravel crunched underfoot.

The shields above no longer sparked with precipitation, at least. He easily passed through them, though they made his very bones ache.

The front half of the train, having been secured behind blast doors and cleared of hostiles, remained uneventful. But the back half had gone to hell. Blaster fire rang loud and angry. There was Aurra at a certain distance, arms crossed over her chest. Her team had landed and regrouped—a pirate horde disembarking and slicing through the remaining spice runner defenses, racking up surrenders and bodies both. She herself was flanked by ten Weequay in the rear, all of their guns drawn.

“Hey,” she greeted. “Whatcha got there, Hardeen?” Suddenly frowning, turning, she adjusted her massive rifle on a boulder and took a shot, the bolt cutting through two spice-runners like they were nothing but organ-filled film. The other two in that bunch quickly dropped and raised their hands. It seemed this would be over _very_ fast.

Obi-Wan squared his stance and roughened his voice. “You know how the ideal contract situation is to underpromise and overdeliver, getting a nice bonus?”

“Sure do.” She turned back with a content look.

“Well, we promised one cargo hold, and it looks to me like you get seven.”

“Hm. Minus that crate there?”

“…That’s our bonus.”

“You know though, that while these ships are strung together, it’s sort of all one _big_ ship. One _big_ cargo hold. And… I feel like I’m owed a bit extra here for needing to get involved. You’re even making me mop up.”

 _…Really?!_ “Counteroffer: maybe I feel like I’m owed a little more for the lack of clarity around the job, and the multitude of Black Sun I _already_ had to go through. Those were not part of the terms.”

Sing stalked closer. Her boots squelched into the mud, soles smelling acrid already. But, her little battalion didn’t follow; she waved them back, pistols on her hips.

In her eyes was something that almost was a glimmer of… respect, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was surprising.

“Mm. Interesting it’s just you and me out here though, hotshot. You and me and forty pirates, on an uninhabited cesspool, and you with no way home… I mean, we’ll have to make some kind of agreement here, right? You’re going to need a lift.”

Obi-Wan swallowed.

“Where _is_ Bane, anyway?”

Thankfully, the need to answer was interrupted by the roar of an engine. The _Justicar_ swooped overhead, making a shuddering landing as the pirates re-aimed their rifles. Sing frowned.

Oh, thank _goodness_ Todo had placed the craft in a way that aimed the guns at this entire mess.

“I see we may be at an impasse.” Obi-Wan kept his face carefully neutral. “Bane’s been making passes in our craft checking for additional threats, and he’s in an _awful_ mood. Perhaps we can skip the posturing for one day and not waste time before the rains return.”

“Hm.” She stiffened, and he could see her running calculations, wondering where this ship had come from, if this story was absolute malarkey. But her results seemed inconclusive. “Well…” she spit, “…perhaps one crate won’t be missed.”

It was hard to tell if the capitulation was fear, respect, or simply practicality, but Obi-Wan took it. “My thanks. Now please, far be it from me to delay you from getting at this cargo of several _million_ credits worth of milliflower and glitterstim… and honestly, who knows what else…”

The pirates started to smile, getting antsy for their haul.

“…Yeah. Fine,” Aurra sighed, scowling at their getaway craft. “Go on. Get out of here.” And Obi-Wan did. But the moment he turned his back, her voice cracked into him again, unnerving, cold. “But Kenobi?”

All one could do was cast a carefully disinterested glance over one shoulder, even as a heart chilled. What was the point in correcting her? If she knew… she knew.

Sing was squinting like he was cute. How she could _effortlessly_ do that and maintain her seeming willingness to remove his face with her teeth… “Tell Bane word travels fast when you change teams. Seems like he needs a reminder.”

“…I will.”

“Good. And if I see you around again? You won’t see the shot coming.” She turned, flipping a jaunty goodbye with one wrist over her shoulder.

Obi-Wan loaded his cargo in the hold, engaging the landing ramp.

Sing was speaking in a transmitter as it closed on her and the pirates, dark eyes glinting in the sun.

It would be best, he realized, to flee.


End file.
